


Four Years

by olddarkmachine



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Bathroom Sex, Body Shots, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Football, M/M, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, an embarrassing amount of flirting, did someone say multipart frat au?! no? oh.... well this is awkward, not just fraternities mind you, of the flag variety, rival fraternities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-05-17 01:11:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14822384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olddarkmachine/pseuds/olddarkmachine
Summary: It would figure that he would also be a pledge.In fact, it made sense.Guys like Shiro didn’t just go through college without leaving their mark on something with at least one greek letter.But fate was just all too cruel to land him in this one fraternity in particular.Beta Theta and Alpha Chi had a long history of overzealous competition between them from the very start. As the story went, the Alphas crossed paths with the Betas, welcoming them into Greek Row with a trick that turned the water to their house blue for a month. The founding members at the time didn’t take too kindly to their aqua tinged skin and consequential smurf jokes, and retaliated by duct taping every moveable object in their house to the ceiling.The rest, as they say, was history. A history that marked each and every member of Alpha Chi Lambda with a big, fat red no symbol over each one of their faces, no matter how stupidly attractive.





	1. Freshman Year

**Author's Note:**

> Did any of y’all watch Greek? God. I fucking loved Greek and if you look close enough you’ll catch throwbacks to that. ~~also each part has a song tied to it sorry not sorry~~
> 
> There's no E rated things yet, but it's gonna earn it. That's what a slow burn is all about, y'all.

_I remember when we_   
_Swapped names and I thought maybe_   
_You’d stay and try to out drink me_   
_Your friends all hate it_

_-_[Cocoon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Va75GaPv5jY), Catfish and the Bottlemen

_***_

There were a great many things that Keith Kogane hadn’t taken into account when he’d foolishly allowed himself to be talked into pledging a fraternity by his best friend and roommate. He hadn’t considered the fact that it would add to the already hefty workload he had as a dean’s scholarship winner.

Hadn’t considered the chance of actual hazing that would be involved.

But mostly, he hadn’t considered how much worse it would make his 8am calculus class.

 _It will be good for us_ , Hunk had said as he’d steered Keith head first into the main mall that was lined with an obscene amount of plastic tables decorated to look appealing. As if foldable tables could be appealing.

 _This will make it easier to branch out and make friends_ , he’d continued as he began picking up fliers detailing the many upsides to becoming a member of Beta Theta Omega for life.

 _And don’t forget how good it looks on resumes_ , he’d said, landing his death blow as he’d taken the recruiter’s hand in what became the handshake that changed both of their lives.

Sighing loudly, Keith sunk lower into his seat as he nursed the darkest roast of coffee that the campus coffeeshop offered.

 _I need something that will match the dark circles_ , he’d said monotonously as he gestured to his own face, barely computing the worried look it had earned him as the barista quickly turned to the coffee maker in the farthest corner.

It tasted a lot like molten mud, but he really didn’t have much of a choice when faced with two hours of sleep thanks to an unfortunate incident with a goldfish, and a morning with the squeeze theorem.

As it turned out, he really should have considered that Hell Week and calculus wouldn’t be a very good combination.

“God dammit, Hunk,” he growled under his breath as his professor sauntered into the room, his excitement over limits and functions oozing from his very pores as he twisted the edge of his bright orange mustache between his fingers. Coran was known for his over enthusiasm in just about everything he did, and it was something Keith would be able to respect if it didn’t happen at unholy hours.

If he was being fair, he’d never actually stood a chance with the class. Faced with what he considered a Perfect Storm of Circumstance, Keith knew he should have dropped it while he’d still had the chance. Any sane student would have chosen to wait until the next semester and try for a later time.

No one would have blamed him for it, after all, it was his very first semester.

Hunk had already sat down with him and drafted a list of pros and cons after a particularly harrowing morning that had led to him peeling Keith out of bed and pushing him out the door with a barely toasted piece of bread, two different shoes on, and a quiet  _godspeed_.

Mainly comprised of cons, his friend couldn’t quite understand why Keith wouldn’t just leave the class for dead.

If he was being honest, he knew he should. In any other circumstance, he would have marched himself into his counselor’s office that very first day to pull the plug on the course, citing his pre-freshman aspirations that had clearly led him astray.

Only, as it turned out, this wasn’t any other circumstance. Because what Hunk didn’t know, and what Keith refused to admit, was that there was a single lonely solitary pro that he hadn’t added to the list.

A very big, very hot one with a square jaw hand crafted by an unnamed god that clearly wanted to apologize for all their wrongs. One with molten silver eyes and a permanent quirk in the rightmost corner of its full lips that left it with an ever present smirk.

A pro that made his very tired heart kickstart within his chest until it left its imprint in the back of his ribs each time he stepped through the lecture hall’s doors.

That pro, was Takashi Shirogane.

Or, as he’d introduced himself on that first day,  _Shiro_.

Dragging another sip of scolding liquid through his teeth and over his tongue, Keith let his gaze wander across the room to the student in question as Coran asked him to recap a problem on the homework. He didn’t seem to notice the attention as his mouth formed around an explanation of how the limit of the problem did not exist that droned into a dull hum as Keith traced the line of scar that marked the bridge of his nose.

It stood out as a bright pink against his tanned skin, adding a layer of mystery to his hard lined features that looked as if they belonged to an action star and not a college freshman. Keith often found himself wondering where the mark came from, and if it was correlated to the metallic prosthetic that caught the light of the lecture hall, reflecting it with a bright glint that matched Shiro’s eyes.

He also found himself wondering how it would feel like to have that metallic hand around his throat, but that was neither here nor there.

 _It’s 8am_ , he thought to himself as he took another sip.  _I’m allowed to dream_.

“Do you have anything to add Keith?” Coran’s voice was chipper as it shattered his thoughts into a million little pieces as he prematurely swallowed. Spluttering around his mouthful of coffee, Keith straightened his back as he dropped the cup filled with traitorous liquid on his all too small desktop.

“No,” he choked out lowly as he knocked his fist against his sternum to dislodge the coffee caught in his throat. It earned him a curious look from his professor as he finally swallowed the lump down.

“No, that sums it up,” he tried again, his voice carrying louder as Coran smiled with glee. Turning his back towards him, he started manically writing out the steps that Shiro had stated to explain it further for the other students but it was all lost to him as he felt the static prickle of a gaze licking his skin.

Cutting his glance beneath his bangs, he caught sight of Shiro openly staring at him, a quizzical light brightening his gaze. It was the kind of look that dug itself deep beneath his bones and worked its way through him, exposing the truth of his thoughts as that damned smirk seemed to deepen.

Heat colored Keith’s cheeks a bright shade as he held the stare, not wanting to look away first in a show of momentary alpha dominance. The air around him started to grow thick as it pressed against his lungs, making it hard to breathe as one of Shiro’s inky black brows arched upwards toward his hairline in challenge.

“Yes?” Shiro mouthed as his grin widened to expose his teeth, sending a thrill down Keith’s spine. Before he could answer in kind, he felt the sharp buzz of a text alert from his phone in his pocket. The sudden shock of it broke the moment as he looked down, thrusting his hand into his pocket to dig it out and look at the screen.

Stretched across it was a reminder from one “Pledge Dad Reg” about the final Hell Week activity. It was a party, which sounded suspiciously easy for a finale to the hardest week of his life, but he wasn’t going to question it. A party, he knew, would mean little to no pain and suffering, and after the night before, he needed that.

He probably wouldn’t ever be able to look at a goldfish the same way again, living or cracker.

Exhaling a breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding, he looked back up, only to see that Shiro’s attention was already back on the board.

Grabbing for his cup, he tried to swallow his disappointment with another drag of equally bitter coffee.

*******

He hates Takashi Shirogane.

In the very same way he hated getting his favorite song stuck in his head. Which is to say, Keith didn’t hate him at all. But he had never experienced the strange squeeze that had constricted the cage around his chest at the exact moment he’d walked across the threshold of Alpha Chi Lambda and seen him there, smile reflecting the cheap party lights their rival fraternity had strung up in their living area, so he was going to call it hate.

And if it was a much heavier emotion that had stalled the beating hunk of flesh he called a heart, well no one really needed to know about it, because Shiro was now officially off limits.

It would figure that he would also be a pledge.

In fact, it made sense.

Guys like Shiro didn’t just go through college without leaving their mark on something with at least one greek letter.

But fate was just all too cruel to land him in this one fraternity in particular.

Beta Theta and Alpha Chi had a long history of overzealous competition between them from the very start. As the story went, the Alphas crossed paths with the Betas, welcoming them into Greek Row with a trick that turned the water to their house blue for a month. The founding members at the time didn’t take too kindly to their aqua tinged skin and consequential smurf jokes, and retaliated by duct taping every moveable object in their house to the ceiling.

The rest, as they say, was history. A history that marked each and every member of Alpha Chi Lambda with a big, fat red no symbol over each one of their faces, no matter how stupidly attractive.

“It’s like Romeo and Juliet, only more tragic,” Hunk mused as Keith drank down his third mystery punch. It tasted like gasoline with cherry flavor added, but it left his fingertips buzzing pleasantly and his brain slightly watery as he finished explaining the situation.

“Would it be my luck if it wasn’t?” Keith asked, voice slightly muffled by his cup as his eyes flashed over its rim.

“Touché,” his friend laughed as he disappeared behind his own cup of punch. The momentary pause between them stretched long as Keith scanned the crowd of mingling pledges, stalling over where Shiro stood.

“So what now?” Hunk asked after coming up for air, politely ignoring the lingering gaze.

“Now, I wonder why I ever agreed to join a fraternity in the first place,” Keith said drily as he watched Shiro throw his head back, his shoulders shaking with laughter at something one of his pledge brothers said.

“Because you love me, remember?” Hunk replied easily, elbowing his friend gently in the ribs as he cut his warm brown eyes between Keith and the far off object of his affections.

“Do I?” Keith’s voice was low with teasing, not bothering to turn his attentions back to Hunk as he traced the long line of Shiro’s throat.

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” Hunk snapped his fingers as if with a revelation. “It’s because you owed me still for the glue incident.”

Rolling his eyes toward the ceiling, Keith bit on the edge of a smile as he finally turned to his roommate.

“You have to admit it had been a good idea at the time,” he laughed. The glue incident, as they’d affectionately called it, had been what had started their entire friendship in the first place. A then stubborn five-year-old, Keith didn’t quite like giving up on things he liked.

As kids do, he had come up with the brilliant plan of gluing himself to his favorite chair to avoid sharing it.

To this day he still maintained that it would have been a great idea if he just could have figured out how to get out of the glued shorts without being cut out of them.

“A good idea would have been to just move to a different seat, Keith.”

With a quick shrug, he returned his gaze in time to see Shiro throw an arm around one of his pledge brothers. Something hot and bright lit in the bottom of his gut as they rocked together in shared mirth.

“What can I say, I liked that one in particular,” he breathed as Shiro flicked his gaze up to him.

“You never change do you?” Hunk asked as Keith tore his own away, catching the last vestiges of his friend’s curious look. Opening his mouth to retort, he was cut off by the sharp sound of a thick, accented voice.

“All pledges outside!”

“Guess that’s our cue, huh?” Hunk said around a smile as Keith swallowed his quip. Following the throng of pledges towards the backyard, they stopped in front of a makeshift platform that raised a long table and covered board above them all.  

On either side of the board stood the pledge dads for both fraternities, each sporting shirts with their letters proudly stitched over the right side of their chests.

“Look alive, sunshines,” the Alpha Chi member said, his voice smooth as velvet and smile filled with ice. He cut an impressive figure with his tall, lithe frame topped by his bright blonde hair that he wore pulled into a messy pile on top of his head.

“As many of you know, we are not friends,” he continued as he gestured broadly across the pledges gathered before him. “If you don’t know that, don’t expect to make it much further in either house.”

Uneasy laughter rolled across the group at the sudden turn of his voice as it darkened with what sounded a lot like a threat.

“Of course, if you don’t survive this night, you shouldn’t expect to make it further anyway.”

“How serious do you think this guy is?” Hunk stage whispered as he leant in towards Keith, not taking his eyes off the blonde.

“I would guess, not really,” Keith replied as he nodded toward their own as he rolled his eyes dramatically. He was his own imposing force, nothing but long strong limbs and hair cut short to expose the severe lines of his face. If they hadn’t spent so much time with him, Keith would have actually thought he was meant to be scary.

Good thing he knew better, though, by the looks of it, not many of the Alpha Chi pledges did.

“What Lotor means to say is that every year we celebrate our rivalry with a friendly competition of the pledges,” Regris explained as he cut a sharp look towards Lotor, who just shrugged as he smile widened.

“It will not affect your standing as a pledge should you lose.”

Tension bled out of the group as there was an audible sigh of relief.

“But be warned,” Regris interjected quickly, his smile turning wicked and rivaling that of his companion as he looked over the crowd. “If you do lose, this is not the end of your Hell Week.”

Laughing loudly, the blonde grabbed at the edge of the sheet over the board, pulling it off with a deft flick of his wrist and revealing a list of names.

“We have randomly paired each pledge,” he said matter-of-factly as he stepped away from the board to further expose the list. Keith felt Hunk tense beside him, his arm going taut against his as he scanned the names.

“Lance,” he breathed as he read his opponent’s name out loud. It stirred a memory of a loud voice as Keith searched for his own name, a drop of worry running a cool line over his spine as he got closer to the bottom without seeing it.

It wasn’t until he reached the end that he saw the five letters that made up his name, standing proud as the final matchup for the night.

And beside it, was Shiro’s.

Turning his head away from the damning list, he let his eyes roam over the crowd, finding Shiro just to see the other pledge was already returning the look. A sudden thrill sent his heart cascading up against his tonsils as he attempted to swallow it down.

“That’s rough, buddy,” he barely heard Hunk say over the sound of his racing pulse.

Shiro’s expression was something bright and almost blinding as he nodded toward him, unaware of the way the single motion smashed Keith’s lungs beneath the heavy weight of unabashed want.

For just a moment, Keith wondered if that was why it was called a crush as he forced his gaze away.

Wide eyed, he looked at Hunk as he appraised Shiro and then Keith, shaking his head solemnly as he spoke once more.

“Really rough.”

***

The game, was flip cup.

And currently, they were tied, which left the final round as the deciding factor for which house would take the win.

 _No pressure or anything_ , Keith thought to himself as he slowly took the handful of steps up the raised platform to the table that would be his battleground.

Admittedly, he hadn’t played much flip cup. Hadn’t played many drinking games at all, to be frank.

He’d honestly never really understood the point when he could just drink and get the same result with far less work.

It was this very fact that had kept his attention settled fully on the competition as he’d picked up techniques from both sides in hopes to utilize them to his advantage.

Well, that, and it also helped him avoid the stare he had felt flaying his skin during the duration of the other matches.

 _He’s staring again_ , Hunk had said after returning from his round where he’d barely pulled away as victor thanks to a last minute flub by his opponent.

 _Is he?_  Keith had feigned ignorance without looking away from the table. Even to his own ears it had sounded false and forced.

Still, it had worked well enough as Keith had managed to only catch the metallic look a few times. A feat, really, given how badly he had wanted to look.

Now, though, without the excuse of someone else to watch he had no choice but to look up at Shiro as he settled into the Beta side of the table. He looked every bit of handsome beneath the string lights that stretched above them as his lips turned upwards into a liquid mercury smile.

“A Beta, huh?” He asked easily, unabashedly dragging his stare down Keith’s body as the crowd around them grew steadily louder with cheers for their respective sides. It was a fiery thing that slicked his palms with cool sweat as he closed his hands into tight fists.

“Yeah, what of it?” He shot back, voice edging toward hostile. It earned him a timid look as Shiro raised his hands in front of him in a sign of surrender.

“Nothing of it, just didn’t figure you to be the frat type is all,” he said earnestly. The soft burr of it left the inside of Keith’s skin feeling prickly as Shiro waited for his reply, hands still poised as if to calm.

Now, maybe it was the alcohol he’d already consumed that night finally making his blood burn.

Maybe it was the way he was wearing the silver of Shiro’s gaze.

Or maybe it was the fact that under other circumstances, he would have already been across the table, but Keith could feel the roiling pit of something dark as it twisted and turned in his stomach and pulled him closer toward the table that separated them.

“And what type did you figure me to be?” He asked, placing his palms against the alcohol dampened surface. A jolt kickstarted his heart as he watched Shiro wipe a hand along his jaw, carefully eyeing him before he licked a quick line along his bottom lip.

“Would it be too forward to say my type?” The other pledge finally asked, the barely there curve of his permanent smirk deepening as he caught the way Keith’s mouth opened around a silent ‘o.’

“I’d say it’s forward of you to try and use flirting to throw me off my game,” he managed breathlessly after several seconds of white noise that was punctuated by a sharp bark of laughter as Shiro crossed his arms over his chest.

“Presumptuous of you to think that’s what I’m doing.”

Beside them, Lotor started to give the final round introductions, pulling the attention of the crowd away from them.

“Isn’t it?” Keith asked, ignoring the chant of his name that threatened to drown out his question.

“What if I say no?” Shiro fired back as the Alphas started their own chant. Off in the distance, he was barely aware of Lotor asking them both if they were ready. He watched carefully as Shiro gave a barely there nod in affirmation, not once looking away as he shot Keith a wink.

Heat lightning fizzled and crackled over his skin, turning it into a minefield of sizzling want as he carved his gaze along the strong lines of Shiro’s arms, up along his squared shoulders, over the vein that stood out along his neck and up towards his burning silver gaze. It exploded into a web of electricity that sent the buzz of white noise up through his limbs as he watched that infernal smirk pull into a full blown crescent smile.

Keith’s mind tripped over itself as it fell into the deep pit that marked the corner of Shiro’s perfectly curved mouth, because of course the other pledge would have a dimple.

That single solitary fact pushed him head first into the cool liquid of reality as he suddenly found himself angry.

Angry, because no one should be able to have a face like that, let alone dimples. And they definitely shouldn’t be allowed to use it to their advantage like that.

“Does that smile usually get you what you want?” He growled, pushing the question between his clenched teeth as he tore his stare away from Shiro’s pleased expression and down to his line of red solo cups. They stood like guards in a line along the edge of the table, their amber insides reflecting the white lights above like fireflies on a lake.

Their calm surfaces were disrupted by the slight jostling of the table as Shiro leant against it, his grin widening into what could only be classified as shit-eating as he painted Keith’s outline in tempered silver.

“Usually,” he said lowly, his voice a smooth roll of thunder as his gaze snapped back up to catch Keith’s. “Is it working?”

The short answer, was yes. With heated honey slicking his insides with sticky sweetness that had him almost curling in on himself, Keith had already lost. But he couldn’t let his future brothers know that, and he certainly couldn’t let Shiro know that.

If there was anything Keith was, it was filled with enough pride to know that he couldn’t let the other pledge win.

Couldn’t, and wouldn’t.

Throwing his shoulders back in haughty defiance, Keith tempered his gemstone stare with the heat that roiled through his veins. Bracing himself in an evened stance, he poised a hand over his first target as he replied.

“Not a chance.”

Whatever retort Shiro had was drowned out by the sound of a bullhorn signaling the start of the final matchup. Everything else fell away as Keith’s fingers closed around the cool plastic. Tugging his first victim from the lineup, he barely noticed the explosion of sound around him as he tossed his head back, relishing the the bitter tang of the subpar beer as it fizzed its way down his throat.

Without pause, he dropped the cup back down to the table, its thin plastic making a soft tap as it landed precariously on the edge. Lips pulling up over his teeth and exposing a blade edged smile, Keith imagined how he would need to catch the edge of the cup like he’d seen the others do before him.

Using just the tips of his index and middle fingers, he knocked the cup into the air.

Crimson flipped before him, obscuring his vision with its bright color as he watched it turn once, then twice for added flair, before it landed deftly on its top.

Pulling his smile wider, Keith cut his gaze back up to Shiro who stood staring at him, all confidence wiped away by a look of wide eyed amazement. The other pledge’s fingers twitched around his own cup that was frozen on its journey towards his mouth as he stared at Keith.

Another peal of burning lightning ricocheted through his bones as he snatched up another cup. Leveling his amethyst gaze over its rim, he barely hid his smug look behind the plastic as he spoke.

“Try to keep up.”

*****************


	2. Sophomore Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I wanted to add lyrics at the start of each chapter from songs I felt encapsulated the feel for the chapter. But then I just couldn’t bring myself to add lyrics from Tupthumping and format them like poetry, but I tried to work that in another way instead. Enjoy.
> 
> ~~still not to that e rating folks, sorry. that's next chapter and it's, uh, it's a good time :3c~~

There were a great many thing things that Keith Kogane had learned by his second year of college. The first, is that being in a fraternity wasn’t actually that bad.

Not that he’d ever admit to Hunk that he was right.

Again.

But it had gotten him out of the hellhole known as dorm living and had even given him and Hunk a usable kitchen that didn’t carry the high risk of tetanus. It had even come with a fridge that was almost always stocked as long as Hunk promised an endless supply of his “Beta Famous Bear Claws.”

Really, everyone won in the end.

The second, is that he was disturbingly good at drinking games. So good, in fact, that he’d earned the title of The Anchor and had been the Beta’s not-so-secret weapon in every drinking competition that they found themselves in.

His only true match, was known as The Champion.

Or rather, Shiro.

Though, how the Alphas decided he should be called that was beyond him when he currently sat with one more win under his belt.

And the only reason Shiro had managed to pull his most recent win from him, was because he’d used his dimple against him.

Keith still maintains that it was an illegal play.

The third, is that fate is a dick.

A dick that had paraded itself into his life in the form of one Professor Slav. A dick that had forced them into a group essay together that totaled half of their overall semester grade.

A dick that had landed him in a slightly sticky booth across from Shiro with two drinks between them and not even the excuse of any games.

 _We should celebrate_ , Shiro had said as soon as they’d dropped their fluid mechanics essay off at Slav’s office.

 _Yeah, that’d be cool_ , Keith had said, as if the mere mention hadn’t sent his heart crashing into the roof of his mouth along with the acrid taste of bile. It’s an exaggerated reaction, he knows. One that isn’t really warranted given his otherwise calm and cool demeanor towards his classmate and frat rival.

Which brings Keith to the fourth, and final thing he’s learned. It was a revelation that he kept wrapped in all its bits of ominous cashmere, folded and tucked safely between the space of his third and fourth ribs where even he couldn’t touch it.

Because touching it was dangerous.

Acknowledging the softness that lined his insides would be sticking his hand within the garbage disposal of his emotions that would surely cut him to bits and leave him bleeding out on the floor.

Acknowledging it would mean admitting what he had known that exact moment he’d walked into that calculus class his freshman year.

That he’s completely gone for Shiro.

And not in the perfectly acceptable way that could have been rectified by a drunken night and bad decisions. In the a way that left his heart a pale imitation of Atlas holding up the weight of Shiro’s smile.

A smile that is burning a hole through his sternum as he watches the Alpha grab his beer and raise it in salute.

“To surviving Slav,” he says, sliding the words through his grin as he lowers his gaze to Keith’s pint before snapping it back up to his face. Deep within the silver there, he sees the fire of a challenge that stokes the flames within his own chest as he closes his fist around the cool glass and lifts it.

“And to being dumb enough to want to stay in aerospace engineering,” Keith replies before draining half of his beer if only for the excuse of looking away from the blinding glow of Shiro’s look.

“Who’d have thought that we would actually work well together,” Shiro hums thoughtfully as  Keith resurfaces, looking him over as he wipes a lazy line along the condensation thats gathered along his own glass.

“Did we?” He asks dumbly, eyeing what’s left and calculating if he could finish it off in one more go.

The answer?  _Yes, yes he could_.

The real question is, should he?

“I think so,” Shiro says easily, his dimple working its way further into the corner of his mouth as he watches Keith, some secret enjoyment turning his gaze bright. If Keith didn’t know better, he’d think that Shiro knows exactly what he’s thinking.

The very thought paints his cheeks red as he scoffs and rolls his eyes to the ceiling.

“That makes one of us.”

Regret hits him almost immediately as something a lot like hurt turns Shiro’s gaze downcast, pushing an awkward silence along their booth that’s painfully pointed. If he were being honest, they really had worked well together, but that isn’t really the point, is it?

No matter how well they may have worked together, it didn’t change the fact that Shiro is off limits, painted with a big fat X.

Swallowing down his apology, Keith cuts his gaze to the other bar patrons, mentally cataloguing each face that turns their way. He’ll never hear the end of it if any of the Betas catch him sharing drinks with Public Enemy No. 1.

Sighing loudly, Keith slumps further into the booth, turning his attention back to Shiro only to be met by his unwavering stare.

It’s the kind of stare that carries confidence and nonchalance, as if Shiro doesn’t care who saw them there. Though, now that Keith thinks about it, he supposes that only makes sense.

Sal’s was, for all intents and purposes, sacred ground where all rivalries were checked at the door since it was the one bar in town that didn’t look too closely at IDs. As long as no one made things difficult, they could overlook the differences in the laminated photos. 

That very rule made it the kind of place where even the most vehement of enemies would be able to share a drink side-by-side.

Of course, it was also the kind of place where drunken students would input the same song in the jukebox to play for an hour straight. 

At first, it had been funny. Now, it feels like an ill omen.

The song, a drinking tune made popular thanks to the 90s, kicked in once more as it listed off an obscenely long list of drinks. Keith is pretty sure that if anyone drank all of those, they’d be knocked down and definitely wouldn’t be getting back up again.

Granted, staring down the barrel of Shiro’s gunmetal eyes, he thinks he might just give it a try.

“So tell me about yourself,” Shiro’s voice is a burning ember stoked within the crashing roar of the bar patrons around them as he leans forward, gaze filled with intent as he breaks the awkward silence of their booth. It makes Keith’s heart flip a perfect 10 from the judges within his chest as he opts to throw back the last of his beer if only to buy himself a bit more time.

The smooth IPA washed down his minor panic, leaving nothing but feigned confidence in its wake as he emerged from behind the emptied glass.

“I’m not sure what else you want to know, Shirogane,” he says just as smoothly, leveling him with a careful arch of his brow as he settling back into the booth as he raised a finger with each point he made.

“I’m a Beta, I clearly like the pain of this major, and I’m the one that kicks your ass every weekend in beer pong. What more do you want to know?”

Deep lines crinkle the edges of Shiro’s almond eyes as he pulls his forearm up to rest his chin on his open palm. It makes him look younger, almost wistful.

“Shiro,” he answers, tucking his grin behind a careful sip of his beer.

“What?” Keith’s voice is a flatline as loses his train of thought to the slow drag of Shiro’s tongue along the slick liquid that coated his top lip.

“My friends call me Shiro,” the Alpha bites out, turning his smile predatory as his eyes glow with the dumbly breathless nature of Keith’s voice. Friends, was not the right word at all.

 _Friends_ , held a connotation that he never wanted a part in.

 _Friends_ , was something he wouldn’t have even wanted to be even if they hadn’t landed themselves in rival fraternities that pitted them against each other every weekend.

What Keith wanted, was something a lot stronger. He wants late nights, secret smiles and names gasped into the darkness of night.

What he wants, are early mornings, soft sunlight with softer kisses and his eggs over easy.

That, however, is a secret that he would take with him right to his grave, because Keith was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a traitor. No matter how enticing Shiro’s crescent smile and starlit eyes are.

Settling back into the careful composure of his well worn scowl, Keith lifts his glass in Shiro’s direction.

“I’ll stick with Shirogane, then, thanks,” he says brusquely as he raises the glass to his lips in an attempt to hide behind another swig of beer that he forgets isn’t there until he sees the flash of Shiro’s eyes as they meet his gaze through the emptied bottom of his glass.

Heat sparks in his chest, sending a flare racing up his neck and across the rise of his cheeks at the sound of Shiro’s husking laugh as, in a show of dominance, he tossed back the rest of his own drink.

“Looks like we’re ready for something stronger.”

The words, accompanied with a wink, carry Shiro away as Keith opened his mouth around a silent protest just seconds too late. A dryness fills his throat as he watches his classmate push through the crowd, ignoring the lingering eyes as he passes until he reached the bar.

From here, Keith gets a front row seat to the snug fit of his jeans, and the way his navy henley pulls across his shoulders, the fabric set just this side of too tight in a way that would make him go weak in the knees if he was standing.

Good thing he wasn’t.

Even from behind, Keith can see the confidence that holds Shiro’s head high as he starts to speak with the bartender. He can imagine the easy smile that would work itself high in the full of his lips, drawing his cupid bow taut and deepening that damned dimple. Something dark curled itself low in his gut as he watched the bartender toss back his head with a laugh, the sound of it snatched away by the sound of Chumbawumba calling out for one Danny Boy. Light flashes off his glasses as he returns his gaze to Shiro, his own mouth split wide as he reaches beneath the bar.

Keith shaking his head as he watches, shaking the blackened thoughts from his head as he turns away, biting down on his lip until he tastes the sharp tang of blood. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the tart taste on the back of his tongue was jealousy.

Good thing he did.

A tray of shots materializes in front of him, their contents sloshing over their sides as they’re dropped unceremoniously with a clatter on the table before him, causing him to jump as Shiro pushes himself back into his side of the booth.

“Are you up for a game?” Shiro asks, the silver of his eyes muted with a dark challenge as he licks across a sharpened canine. It’s a feral move that cracks that pesky space between Keith’s ribs wide with the brambles of sticky, sharp desire. It buries itself deep into his bones, forcing the gaps further and further apart until he isn’t sure he’d be able to keep breathing.

Crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to hold it together, Keith tilts his chin high in defiance.

“I’m always up for kicking your ass, Shirogane,” he growls, pushing the words through his gritted teeth. A storm cloud rumbles across Shiro’s face as a hungry shadow turned it hard in a fleeting moment that makes Keith’s heart race. 

The air thickens between them, catching with the same static that fills the air before a tempest as they hold each others gazes over the tray of sharp smelling alcohol.

It would be something of a perfect moment if only Keith could hear something other than that damned song starting over yet again.

“What’re the rules?” He breathes, shattering the moment as Shiro shakes his head briefly, his gaze returning to their teasing shine as he reaches for the glasses between them.

“Simple,” he says with a shrug as he divvies up the shots until there are an equal amount on either side of the table. Six a piece.

Keith’s stomach turns.  

“I ask a question, if you don’t want to answer, you drink. You ask a question, if I don’t want to answer, I drink.”

It’s said easily, as if it the statement isn’t filled with all the makings of a trap. Shiro was handing Keith the opportunity to make this last as long— or as short— as possible. All he needs to do, is leave all his questions unanswered.

Six shots weren’t that many in the grand scheme of things, after all.

Keith’s certain he’s done more than that before.

Granted, that night had ended in a promise that he’d never drink again.

But hey. He never said he was perfect.

“Easy enough,” he agrees against the better judgement that screamed at him in the form of a strangely Hunk shaped angel on his shoulder. Smiling all teeth, he grabs one of the shot glasses and gathers it between his palms.

_He takes a vodka drink, indeed._

“I’m glad we can agree.” A small shiver dances it way down the grooves of his spine as he watched Shiro’s hand fold around his own. “And in a show of good faith, I’ll let you go first.”

Violet catches steel as they eye each other. Lightning gathers along Keith’s skin as he hums lowly in faux thought as he thumbs the lip of his shot glass.

“Why aerospace engineering?” He asks finally, reveling in the way Shiro’s eyes widen at the tameness of the question. It’s a throwaway question meant to test the waters of Shiro’s intent, and Keith is sure he’s found it in the moments of silence that pass before he pulls himself back together to offer a low chuckle as he let’s his head hang with it.

“Would you believe me if I said I just love space?” Shiro asks, open and honest before him, coloring his tone a shimmery shade with a hidden plea to leave it at that. It flushes his system with curiosity as he let’s his eyes openly roam over the Alpha as if he could pull the truth from within his mind before shrugging noncommittally.

“Don’t see why I wouldn’t.” And though he tries to play it off coolly, Keith realizes that he means it. Through the weekly competitions and their short time as essay partners, Shiro had never given him any reason to question his sincerity. It was most of the reason why his heart always seemed to batter itself against the inside of his chest whenever he was near.

Shiro’s fingers rolled the shot glass back and forth within his grasp before he spoke.

“What about you?”

Keith’s reaction is instinctual as his hand twitches around the slick glass. He knows that he should throw it down for the sake of being one shot down and a bit closer to freedom. That would be the smart thing to do.

But there’s a heat pooling in his stomach and licking the inside of his veins and he wants. He wants so badly, that he’s sure he’s going to burn with it.

More importantly, he’s sure he’d enjoy it.

“I want to be free.” The words leave his lips before he can pick them apart. They carry a weight that hangs between them as Shiro nods in understanding that stokes the flames charring his insides.

“There’s something about the idea of making it up there that sounds like the best kind of escape.”

Pausing, he drags his gaze up from the clear liquid in his glass, filling his smile with wickedness  as he winks.

“And I just love space.” It earns him a bright laugh that dances over him as Shiro raises his shot toward him.

“Touché.”

“Why’d you choose the Alphas?” Keith throws out quickly once his laughter has died down, pulling his brow up in question as Shiro swallows down his shot without pause. There’s a sharp click of glass against wood as he drops it on the corner of their table with a hiss.

“Well color me intrigued,” he says with a laugh as Shiro grabs his next victim, shrugging a shoulder as he keeps his eyes down.

“I’d tell you if we were friends but apparently we aren’t.” His smile goes sharp, filled with the same bite as a wolf. It only grows more pointed as his voice dips into nonchalance.

“Which, why don’t you want to be?”

Air seizes in Keith’s throat as panic stings his edges, leaving him buzzing as he tries to swallow it down. Suddenly, the shot warming against his palm feels like bullet as he realizes taking it would only prove he had something to hide.

Though, from the way Shiro’s grin widens, he’s sure he already knows.

“You’re an Alpha,” he tries, ignoring the way his voice sounds strangled even to his own ears. Keith doesn’t even want to imagine what it sounds like to Shiro’s. 

Like the confession he was hoping to avoid, maybe?

The very thought fills his throat with the bitter sting of bile.

Tsking softly, Shiro raises a finger at him and wags it slowly as he falls into mock disapproval, shaking his head in time with each hardened sound.

“That, sounds like a lie, and a lie is two shots,” he says mercilessly as he uses that same shaming finger to push another one of Keith’s shots toward him. It stares up at him, it’s clear stare reveling that of Shiro’s silver as he cuts his glance between the two before he sighs.

At the very least, Shiro is letting it go, and he’ll play by the rules if it meant being able to hide the truth beneath the acrid taste of vodka.

The first shot burns the entire way down.

“Making up rules as we go, are you?” Keith hums, not putting much force behind it as he grabs the second.

It chases the first’s flames with a kamikaze crash.

“Guess you’ll never know.” Shiro’s laugh is kindling to the fire that the vodka has already set, and Keith can feel it snapping and popping as it grows at his core. Mixed with the pleasant buzz of his first beer, there’s a happy kind of tingle that’s making his fingertips feels like lightning clouds as he palms his third shot. It bubbles up within him until he finds himself laughing as well.

He can feel the weight of Shiro’s gaze on him, but he doesn’t care, because in that moment he can pretend that maybe this is something more than two classmates celebrating the end of a partnership neither of them had even asked for.

“Who’s the guy you’re always with?” The next question comes after his laughter has dried up, and it causes him pause as he tilts his head, pulling his brows together in question.

There’s only one person that Shiro could mean, and that’s—

“Hunk?” He asks, though he supposes Shiro wouldn’t actually know. That would make the question moot, though he figures it should be anyway.

Shiro doesn’t have much of a reason to care who his friends are.

“He’s my best friend.”

Silver cuts into him, carving deep grooves into his skin as if he was trying to decide if Keith’s answer is a lie. It tickles his insides and turns his cheeks a light pink as the alcohol makes him warm beneath the stare. Suddenly, Keith wonders if maybe he does have a reason, because something about that look feels exciting.

Feels like maybe Shiro understands the way his fingers are screaming out to touch.

The corner of his mouth twitches up around a smirk as he leans forward on his forearms.

“Why, are you jealous?” He breathes. Shiro holds his gaze as he snatches up his next shot, throwing it back and baring his throat before dropping it in his shot glass graveyard.

A thrill runs through Keith that makes the edges of his vision light as he mirrors his stance and pushes himself forward against the table.

“Do you want me to be?” Shiro returns, barely hiding his smile as Keith opens his throat around another mouthful of vodka. It’s accompanied by the sound of his triumphant laughter mixed with the sweet, dulcet sounds of Tubthumping.

“Why do you want to be my friend so badly?” Keith volleys before the glass hits the wood, not even bothering to drop it by the empties.

The game had gotten interesting, and there was no point in pretense anymore.

Shining steel flicks downward as Shiro considers his words, mulling them over between the teeth he’s running over his bottom lip. And then he’s looking up and painting Keith’s vision a metallic shade as all else falls away. It leaves him feeling light, as if he’s about to float away, and now he remembers why he promised to never do shots again.

“I tried to tell you last year, you’re my type.”

He says it like a summer breeze. As if it were easy. As if it was right. As if it doesn’t set Keith ablaze and fill his lungs with smoke as he shakes his head.

“Lie, take two,” he manages as he tries to smoothly push one of Shiro’s shots toward him. Vodka spills over the side and slicks the table beneath it as he ignores it, instead smearing it along the table top as he pushes the glass further. Everything goes loud around them as Keith finds himself sinking beneath Shiro’s starlight gaze as he searches for something that only he could know.

“My turn,” Shiro’s voice is pitched low as he drops his stare to Keith’s mouth. In a brief moment of clarity, he notices the way it’s gone almost black.

“Kiss me?”

Everything stops and speeds up all at once as Keith finds himself floundering, crushed beneath the question. He should pull away.

He should laugh it off and take his shot.

He should bite back the gasp that has parted his lips.

But this is a game of what he should do, and what he does, and what Keith does, is none of the above.

Instead, he finds himself moving forward, his body propelled by the heat of Absolut and desire until he feels the unyielding pressure of Shiro’s mouth against his. It gathers the glowing heat of a star in his ribcage as they move against each other. Licking into his mouth, Keith steals the moan from Shiro’s tongue as he curls his fingers into the fabric of his shirt to hold him steady.

The new star incinerates his bone and his skin before building him back up and he’s certain he can see new universes glowing against the backs of his eyelids.

It’s too little and all to much as the room starts to burn around him, leaving a single point of clarity in the form of a heated palm against his nape.

That very palm, is the last thing Keith remembers as everything falls away into darkness, leaving nothing but the echo of that god forsaken song in its wake.

_You’re never gonna keep me down._

***

Pain slices through Keith’s temple as he’s awakened by the sudden violence of his alarm going off. Eyes flying open as he pushes his way up from his bed, he grabs for the trash just to the side of his bed, managing to get it into his lap before his stomach empties its contents into the bottom of its cheap plastic.

This was it, the big one. The one where he promises to never drink again, and actually means it.

_Why was he even taking shots to begin with?_

Moments pass as his mind races to catch up with with his pulse that’s racing in his ears before it crashes down around him. Snippets of memory play before his eyes in dark fragments, set to a soundtrack of Chumbawumba.

_There had been a strong arm wrapped around his waist that helped him stumble from the bar._

_A deep laugh at some bad joke Keith had told._

_A steady hand that had pressed into his chest and pushed him into his bed before pulling the covers up to his chin._

_There had been the soft brush of lips against his cheek._

Keith’s breath quickens as he presses his fingertips to the crest of his cheek as if to chase the phantom sensation that burns there. Shiro had brought him home.

 _Shiro had tucked him into bed_.

Blanching at the thought, Keith threw his legs over the edge of his bed, ignoring the tug of his blankets as they fall to the floor.

Something bright catches his vision as his eyes are pulled toward a glass on his nightstand. And beside it, two white capsules and a note.

With one hand clutching the trash can to his chest, Keith reaches for the pills, letting his fingers drag over the top of squared letters that sit beneath them. Each blue ink mark is another scar against his ribs as he reads the words.

_Take this, and learn how to hold your liquor :)_

He’s definitely never drinking again.

Groaning loudly, and wincing at the flare of pain it causes in his temple, Keith tosses the pills into his mouth, ignoring the water as he swallows them down dry to chase after his heart that was still rapidly beating in his throat.

********************


	3. Junior Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve never been more disappointed with Sheith fandom than I was when I saw that there weren’t any fics with body shots. So uh, be the change you wanna see, kids. ~~no but really wtf yall are you just not tagging it?~~
> 
> Also, this chapter was brought to you by [this song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vvzvBuDLIm0)
> 
> ***UPDATE*** Now with commission from the ever amazing Andy! In case you need some help visualizing the body shot scene, here ya go :3c [TUMBLR](http://mondaijo.tumblr.com/post/179707473629/commission-for-theolddarkmachine-for-the-body) // [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/mondaijo/status/1058565301636349952)

There were a great many things that Keith Kogane had not taken into consideration when he’d decided to singlehandedly lead the charge for a flag football fundraiser.

The first, was his own competitive streak. Before this had all started, he had assured the other Betas that he could keep his temper in check.

 _It was one time, guys_ , he had argued when they’d brought up a particularly harrowing game of Quarters from the past year.  _No one was permanently hurt and that guy still has the quarter!_

At the time, he had thought he could clamp down on the roaring monster that stalked behind the bars of his ribs the moment it reared its ugly head in hopes of making things just a bit more serious than they needed to be.

Hell, even when he’d left earlier that morning, Keith was still filled with a certainty that yes, he would be fine.

Admittedly, if things were different, he probably could have. But things weren’t different, and he was already annoyed.

More correctly, already looking to put up a good fight, because the second thing he hadn’t considered, was the state of the desert.

Even though the year is still new, just months into it, the temperatures were rocketing towards summertime highs that make his hair stick to his forehead and the back of his neck. It’s miserable as it leaves everyone involved with a bright sheen of sweat that leaves their skin sparkling and any white shirts translucent.

Granted, it’s good for the charity as the small stands of the soccer field continue to fill with other students who want to to catch a glimpse of what both fraternities have to offer.

Scanning over both the Betas and the Alphas, Keith can say without a doubt that what they have to offer is muscle.

Lots, and lots of hard shaped muscle that catches the sunlight just this side of scandalous.

Which, brought him to the third, and arguably most important fact that he hadn’t even thought of at all.

Or rather, had tried not to think of.

That fact, was annoying him even further from where he stood just on the other side of the field with a bright smile as he filled his hand with cool water from a bottle before slapping it on the back of his neck.

Shiro.

The fact was Shiro.

Shiro with his skin gleaming and his shirt sticking, looking every bit a Greek god while Keith stood there a searing puddle of what was once a human.

In his own position on the Beta’s council as the VP of Community Relations, Keith should have known that the Alpha’s VP of Membership Development would show up to the games. After all, it was required of all council members to participate.

To be honest, a small part of him had known. A very small, very masochistic part of him.

“Wow,” Hunk’s voice is appreciative beside him before he lets out a low whistle. Keith doesn’t have to look to know where his eyes are focused. He’s certain everyone’s eyes were there.

How could they not be? With his shirting sticking to him like a second skin, showing each and every muscle underneath in high definition, Shiro looks like he’s just moments from winning a wet t-shirt contest.

“You okay there, buddy?” Hunk asks, pulling Keith’s attention back from the darkened circles of Shiro’s nipples.

The short answer, is no.

The long answer? Fuck no.

Ever since that fateful night last year, he had tried his best to avoid being left alone with Shiro. It’s a self preservation tactic really, since Shiro’s heated metal stare and burning touch have been frequent stars of his dreams.

Those very dreams have left him waking up in a mess more times than any human should have to admit.

So he’d tried avoiding, and up until recently, he’d been succeeding. It wasn’t until a couple months before when the Betas and Alphas had announced that they’d be holding a combined charity event in the form of Keith’s beloved flag football fundraiser that it had become difficult.

Worst still when it was announced that he and Shiro would be working together to finalize plans.

And somehow even worse when he’d found out that Shiro had been the reason for the Alphas interest in sharing the event in the first place.

 _It could be fun to play up the rivalry,_  he’d said.

 _Why not make money off something we’d do anyway,_  he’d said.

Keith’s eyes roll upwards as he remembers the way both presidents had nodded along like they didn’t see the problem here. That problem, being two sparkling silver eyes and a mouth to commit numerous crimes for.

The agreement had passed with all but Keith’s approval, signing him over to weekly meetings with Shiro and their combined committees. After each meeting, Shiro would invite him out again with that very same smile that haunted his dreams, and after each meeting, Keith would find an excuse not to go.

Some might call it stupid.

He calls it the highest form of self care.

“I’m fine,” Keith says through gritted teeth, sounding decidedly not fine as the orange plastic cap of his sports drink bites into his palm as it refuses to open.

 _Fucking Gatorade_ , he thinks spitefully before thrusting the drink over to Hunk with a sigh of defeat.

“More power to you, then,” Hunk chuckles as he takes the sweating drink, twisting the cap off easily before handing it back like it was nothing at all. A slight shock makes Keith jump as he drops his palm onto his shoulder, wiping the moisture from the plastic onto his already damp shirt.

He hopes Hunk doesn’t feel the way he tenses as he sees Shiro’s gaze flick over to them.

“Because I’m not and I don’t even like him,” Hunk finishes, turning his stare back to Shiro wistfully as if he’s considering otherwise.

“I told you I don’t like him anymore,” Keith says sharply, before washing his words down with a mouthful of Cool Blue as he shrugs his friend’s hand away.

“Right,” Hunk’s voice flatlines as he eyes Keith, tilting a brow up. “I forgot. Between the heavy sighs and the dreamy eyes, it slipped my mind.”

Rolling his eyes as if to further drive home his point, his face splits into a smile as Keith swats at his arm with the now half empty bottle.

“Hunk.” He says his name like a warning as he brandishes the bottle at him as if it were a sword.

Maybe in another life.

The high pitched shriek of an airhorn sticks anything else Keith could say to the roof of his mouth, signaling the start of the match. Hunk’s hand hits heavily between his shoulder blades as he pats him in something he thinks is supposed to be reassurance.

“Go get him, tiger.”

Trying to ignore the implication there, Keith drops his Gatorade beside his bag before heading out onto the field. His brain heaves itself against the inside of his skull as he notices that Shiro is also headed out.

It only makes sense that he would be put on defense given his size.

Which means that they’ll be on the field at the same time.

Keith swallows down his heart and annoyance in one go as he sets.

After the whistle blows, the game passes in a blur as Keith throws himself into it with singleminded focus. Both sides suffer losses as flags are snatched from belts quickly, forcing team members to walk towards the bench until there’s five minutes left.

Two Betas on offense.

Four Alphas on defense.

One, of course, being Shiro.

Shiro with both of his flags still.

Adrenaline thrums through Keith’s veins as he gets set for another play, his hands clutching at the football as his eyes flick down to his only flag to reassure himself that its still there.

The whistle is shrill as he pushes himself up, holding the ball tucked under his arm as he turns his eyes to the end zone just 30 yards away. He knows he can make it. Speed has always been something of his thing, and with the way his limbs are burning, he knows he can make it.

All they need, is this last touchdown and they’ll win.

All he needs is to just get—

Keith’s breath leaves him quickly, pulling from his lungs like a well placed punch as he finds himself staring up at the endless blue of the sky. Several moments passed as his mind raced to catch up, piecing together the events that had led to him landing on his back when a shadow falls across his vision.

A decidedly Shiro shaped shadow.

“Tackling’s against the rules,” he croaks, still fighting to breathe for a whole new reason as he registers the searing hold on his wrist that keeps it pinned just to the side of his head.

“Is it?” Shiro’s voice is low as he stares down at him, fire reflecting in his eyes as he drags a thumb across his jumping pulse before shrugging.

“Oops.”

Electric currents shoot across Keith’s ribs as a palm falls down onto his side, pressing down with intent as Shiro slowly drags it down to his hip. He tries desperately to ignore the fact that his hand seems to span the entirety of his side.

He fails. But he tries, and that’s what really counts.

“Are you going to get off me?” Keith asks, unable to look away as Shiro’s eyes roam over his heaving chest, pausing at the dip of his collar bone. Humming lowly as if lost in thought, the Alpha pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying it against a pointed canine as he pushes his thumb beneath the hem of Keith’s shirt. A moan lodges itself precariously in his throat as the metal of it drags a blessedly cool line against his flushed skin as Shiro looks up through his lashes.

Caught in the silver, Keith is certain he can see the devil himself.

“But I kind of like it here.”

Words fail him, dying on his tongue as quickly as they appear as he feels his brain come to a shuddering stop. Suddenly it’s far too hot, the sun is far too bright, and everyone around them is far too loud as he finds himself drowning in Shiro’s liquid mercury stare. Mouth opening and closing soundlessly, Keith prays for any sound to come out as he feels his gaze begin to bore straight through him.

Keith wonders if the Betas will remember him when he’s gone.

Then there’s a quick tug that jolts his hip to the side as Shiro snatches his last flag off his belt, smile going wolfish before his heat disappears from where it was just pressed into his chest.

“Gotcha,” he growls, filling the word with double meaning that makes Keith’s heart try and force itself between his ribs. The sharpness of it makes it hard to breath as he pushes up onto his elbows, eyes tracking the lines of Shiro’s back as he walks away twirling the flag around his finger.

_Gotcha._

The Alphas meet him halfway, cheering loudly even as the ref saunters up to Shiro and admonishes him for the tackle. His words are met with a sheepish shrug as he says something that Keith is certain is along the lines of a fake apology.

Skin prickling with the weight of everyone’s stares, he stays there, unable to move as he watches Shiro turn back to face him. From where he sits, he swears he sees Shiro purse his lips at him in a quick kiss that feels a lot like an ill omen.

 _It could be a trick of the light_ , a small voice says desperately at the back of his mind.

Too bad he knows better.

The kiss buries itself deep within his chest, making him wheeze as he sits up fully, dragging a grass stained hand down his face to cover the single word that’s hanging from his lips.

“Fuck.”

***

Sal’s is even louder and even more exuberant than usual with the sound of celebration. It’s meant to be a party in the name of their fundraiser that had gone so well. Keith knows he should be one of the many loud and rowdy brothers, given it was at least half of his efforts that had earned them double what they’d hope to donate.

He isn’t though.

Partially because the Betas had lost.

Partially because Hunk had already left, citing a paper that Keith knew for a fact still had a week between him and the due date.

But mostly, because Shiro hadn’t paid him any attention since the whole thing had started.

It’s a fact that shouldn’t make him annoyed as it does, and the sheer force of that annoyance only serves to push him further into his mostly empty glass of whiskey.

 _And what do you want for a mixer?_  The kind new bartender had asked when he’d sauntered up to the counter with his order.

 _Ice_ , he’d deadpanned.

“You did a good job organizing this.” An unmistakable voice says, making him jump as he surfaces from his drink to see the Beta president, Kolivan looking at him. The senior was a daunting figure, tall and all shoulders with a stoic look that hid a mean party streak. Even knowing he could party harder than the best of them, Keith still feels like he needs to salute him or something whenever he finds himself on the receiving end of one of his all knowing looks.

“I’m just glad it’s almost over with,” he huffs, before tossing back the last swallow if only for the distraction of it. In the distance, he can hear the Alphas discussing something loudly from where they’ve gathered.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but you two work well together,” Kolivan continues, nodding in the direction of the pile of meaty brothers who are only getting louder. Keith knows if he’d allow himself to look, he’d see an annoyingly familiar tuft of white standing out in the middle.

“You’re right, I don’t.” Even he thinks he sounds bitter, but it can’t be helped as he looks through the bottom of his glass as if there’s something hidden there beside the warped wood of the floor.

His president’s stare is heavy as he looks him over.

“Not many people still uphold the rivalry like you do, Keith,” he muses, voice like a breeze as he speaks offhandedly. “It’s all in good fun now, you know. And some of us are even friends.”

As if to prove his point, he lifts a hand and waves to the Alpha president, who returns it with a smile.

Humming nonchalantly, Keith drops his empty glass on a passing tray and grabs a full one, tilting his head back with it. It burns in the best way all the way down.

There’s a pause before Kolivan sighs. It’s world weary, and slightly disappointed.

“Just don’t let your emotions get in the way of anything,” he says finally, voice ringing with a finality as his hand thumps against Keith’s back, making him sputter into his glass as he turns away to check on the other Betas.

“What emotions?” Keith asks out loud, minutes too late and to no one in particular as he feels the warm buzz of alcohol and bad decisions make his head thrum in an ominously pleasant way.

 _No emotions are clouding my judgement_ , he thinks as he looks over the group that has now dispersed, setting up tables and jars. Keith catches the words  _body_  and  _shots_  spoken side-by-side as he sips the last of his second glass of whiskey thoughtfully.

 _My judgement is a clear summer sky_.

Or, at least, it had been a few drinks ago.

A commotion breaks out around the Alphas as they break off in pairs, offering body shots in the name of adding to their donation total.

“Do it for the children!” He hears the annoying voice he’s come to learn is named Lance say above the excited sounds of the partygoers as they start to gather.

His eyes draw to Shiro as if by force to see him hop up on one of the tables.

Of course he’s one of the bodies to go alone with the shots.

Something bone deep and jagged digs itself deep into Keith’s core as he watches the line for Shiro grow, stretching further than the other brothers offering the same shots for way cheaper prices. It roils darkly in his gut twisting itself until it’s tightly bound like a spring just waiting to pop.

It’s jealousy, Keith realizes suddenly as he finds himself at the end of the lengthy line, trying to ignore the giggles from ahead as a particularly handsy girl steps up to Shiro and drops a handful of bills into his jar. Reaching into his back pocket, he thumbs at the worn leather of his wallet before pulling it from its confines and opening it.

Inside is a wad of twenties, thick and taunting as he flips through the stack to quickly calculate the amount. He had planned and adding it to the charity earnings at the end of the night once it was all over, something he reminded himself as he took the the money from his wallet and put the leather back in his pocket, now significantly lighter.

_It didn’t really matter how it got there in the end, right?_

Keith’s thoughts thrum pleasantly with the warmth of the whiskey that’s wrapping itself around his brain stem as he lets his eyes wander the length of Shiro’s body where its propped along the tall table in the middle of the room. He wonders if he can feel the weight of his stare, almost like he can feel the weight of his want as it crushes his sternum into something finer than dust.

The line moves quickly. Though whether that be because of the alcohol that has warped his sense of time or the Alphas’ efficiency, Keith isn’t sure. All he truly knows is that Shiro’s eyes look even more stunning beneath the bar’s dim lighting as they widen upon seeing him step up next in line.

“Keith?” His voice is a shade darker than confused as he drops the wad of money into the jar, just barely managing to tear his stare away from Shiro to look at Lance, his assigned handler.

“Make it a double,” Keith says, ignoring Shiro as his words come out smooth as if his insides aren’t heaving themselves wildly around like test crash dummies thrown against a wall.

Actually, he suspects the test crash dummies would still come out in better shape.

Shiro’s mouth gapes, uncharacteristically quiet, as Lance makes a small disgusted noise in his throat, pressing a cool slice of lime into Keith’s open palm. He knows how this is supposed to work.

 _Lick, sip, lime_ , he repeats mentally as his eyes trace over the edges of the green wedge, the weight of it suddenly much heavier as his gaze flicks up to Shiro’s mouth. It’s quirked slightly, almost as if in encouragement as Keith reaches forward with the lime. A spark burns his thumb as he brushes it against his bottom lip as he takes the rind between his teeth.

His eyes blaze in the darkened light, making him look predatory as he watches Keith’s lips part around a gasp at the sudden sting of it.

“Gross,” Lance mutters under his breath, rolling his eyes as he tilts a line of salt along Shiro’s pec. Keith knows that he should care about the way the other Alpha is looking at him, but all he can really focus on is the way the bar seems to be shrinking around him, threatening to crush him.

“Ready?” Lance asks brusquely, though from the way his face is twisted, he’s hoping that Keith isn’t.

It’s funny how they have that in common.

 _It’s now or never_ , he thinks as he looks toward Shiro, who just quirks his brow as he leans further back on his elbows, exposing more of his chest. The challenge is loud, and painfully clear.

 _Put your money where your mouth is_.

Rolling his shoulders back in defiance, Keith keeps his gaze locked on Shiro as he nods in affirmation.

There’s a heavy moment of silence between the trio that seems to stretch out across the bar as Keith leans forward and runs his tongue along the salt. A firestorm rips through him as he feels Shiro tense beneath the palm he’s braced against his hip as he lets his mouth linger just long enough for him to flick his gaze up to make sure Shiro was watching.

His stare is hazy, but he is.

Good.

He hopes everyone is.

Keith smirks into his skin as Lance slowly tips the tequila over Shiro’s sternum. It rolls lazily down his chest and towards the ridges of his abs, catching in the valley there in the most tantalizing way. Chasing after it, Keith captures the noxious liquid in his mouth as it reaches Shiro’s navel, sweeping it up with a practiced tongue.

A moan buries itself between them as he looks up once more through his bangs. He isn’t sure if the sound his own, or Shiro’s. Honestly, Keith isn’t sure he cares as he feels the planes of Shiro’s stomach flutter beneath the brush of his lips.

The Alpha’s neck arches obscenely as he throws his head back, making Keith’s skin burn as he pushes himself up. Swallowing the mouthful, he wraps a palm against the back of Shiro’s neck to pull him forward as he crashes forward and bites into the lime. Waves of heat cascade into him as their lips touch and he feels the brush of hands on his arms before he pulls away, taking the lime with him as he sucks the juice from it.

What was once silver is black as Shiro looks at him, the back of his hand wiping juice from his mouth as Keith drops the rind on the ground.

The alcohol has turned his blood to fire, and he revels in the way its filling him with smoke as he holds Shiro’s stare as if to say,  _I win this round_.

Though, what that win means, he isn’t even sure. All he knows is it’s just him, Shiro, the errant cadence of his heart and the fading burn of tequila in his throat.

“Keith.”

The way he says his name is caught somewhere between a blessing and a curse, the softness of it trapped within a sharpness that makes his cheeks flush. Something about the way it rolls between Shiro’s teeth shatters the alcohol’s spell and suddenly he feels it.

The stare of everyone around them.

The ache that is crushing his bones into sharp fragments.

The want that he’s been desperately trying to escape.

The failure of it all as his mouth twists around a half formed apology before he turns and runs.

Keeping his eyes trained on the ground, he doesn’t even know where he’s going until his hand is on the slightly sticky surface of the bathroom door. Sending a silent thanks to the heavens and whatever deity pities the drunk and horny, Keith settles his hands against the wet counter.

 _Breathe_ , he tries to tell himself as he drops his head between his arms and grips his fingers into the black surface.

A loud bang jumps off the tile around him as the door pushes open and hits the wall as Shiro steps across the threshold, eyes bright, cheeks flushed and chest heaving as if he just finished a workout instead of the 30 second trip from the bar to the bathroom. The door closes much softer, clicking shut behind him, but it still sounds like a gunshot in the thick silence.

It’s punctuated by the mingling sound of their breathing as Keith finds himself pinned by Shiro’s hungry look.

“What do you want, Keith?” He asks, voice sharp, almost angry as he keeps a distance between them that Keith wants to close.

Has wanted to close, since walking into their class freshman year.

“What do you mean?” Keith asks, pushing the words around his heart as it taps itself wildly against the roof of his mouth.

 _You_ , his mind supplies his real answer.

Catching the sound of his bluff that is placed between his words, Shiro’s eyes flash dangerously as he steps forward. He feels the edge of the sink dipping into the small of his back as he places a hand on the counter, bracing his palms on either side of Keith’s hips. It would almost feel like a trap if it also didn’t create a perfect halo around him that left his pulse leaping and his nerves buzzing with the desire to touch.

“What do you want?” Shiro asks again, each word a warm breath that dances across his skin. Anticipation drags along Keith’s spine, featherlight as it shudders through him as he watches tempered steel flash with decision.

“Because I’ll tell you what I want,” Shiro’s voice is hushed as he traces the bow of his lips with his gaze. “You, Keith.”

White noise settles across his thoughts, leaving them a dull, mindless hum as Shiro’s words weave through the static sound.

You, Keith.

You.

_You._

“I like you,” Shiro continues. It’s soft but it hits like lightning against wood, cracking him open in a way he’s certain will leave him ruined. The electricity is raw and powerful as it jolts his heart and lungs, stalling them both before sending them crashing into a triple time tempo.

“I have liked you. So if there’s any chance here, you have to let me know.”

His words are as exposed as he feels as they worm their way between Keith’s ribs, each one burying deeper than the last as he tries to push through the warmth of the alcohol that has his mind tripping over itself. Each of his senses ache, filled with Shiro as his hands twitch at his sides.

Shiro is right there.

All he needs to do now, is reach out for him

 _Just don’t let your emotions get in the way of something more,_  Kolivan’s words slice through it all like an guillotine.

“What do you want, Keith?” Shiro asks again, growling in frustration as he waits for Keith’s answer.

Once upon a time, Shiro had mentioned they could be friends. But that isn’t what he wants. Has never been what he wanted. Keith wants more, no matter how much he shouldn’t.

But he does all the same.

Tracing his gaze over Shiro’s frame, he can feel the oncoming storm that is rolling beneath his skin. He’s left it open to Keith to decide what he wants, and the choice pushes on his lungs as he looks up into Shiro’s gaze.

The tempest os there, barely contained behind the lightning bright flash of his eyes and for just a moment, he wonders if he should test its strength.

He can turn and run if he wants to.

Yet he has always loved the feel of rain against his skin.

The moment aches as it pulses between them, and then Keith is throwing himself forward, wrapping his arms around Shiro’s neck as his lips seek him out. Crashing together, he can feel the sharp sting of the lightning as Shiro nips at his bottom lip, and hears the roll of the thunder as his pulse crashes in his ears.

Without breaking the contact, Shiro reaches towards the door, locking it with a quick flick of his wrist before he’s pushing Keith up onto the sink. Wrapping his legs around his waist, he can’t swallow the gasp that rocks through him as Shiro rolls his hips against him.

It turns burning stars loose in his bloodstream as Shiro pulls away.

“What do you want?” Keith feels the question, more than hears it, as it brushes across his own lips.

But Shiro has to know, Keith thinks. He has to.

Reaching up slowly, he runs trembling fingers over his cheek, watching them shake just at the edge of his scar.

“You,” he finally breathes.

It breaks something within them both as Shiro surges forward, his thumbs rubbing circles into his hipbones. Rocking up into the contact, Keith anchors himself to him, scratching his blunt nails into the buzzed hair at his nape and pushing their chests together.

He can feel the shake of Shiro’s own hands as they make quick work of his pants, nipping his bottom lip as he frees him from the denim.

“Keith,” Shiro moans as he pulls away, pupils blown in a way that makes him look beautifully inhuman. He already looks wrecked, and that very fact makes Keith gasp as he watches him fall smoothly to his knees.

Mouthing at the still clothed seam of his hip, Shiro noses at the strip of skin exposed by his disheveled shirt. Keith’s skin feels too tight as his hips buck, searching for contact and earning a sinful smile that Shiro tucks into the darkened hair there.

His tongue is hot as it traces over him, stopping just at the head as he gives him a teasing lick.

“Shiro, please,” he grits out as his nails bite into the countertop and for just a moment, Keith wonders if he or the counter will break first.

A flash of silver is the only warning he gets before Shiro swallows around him, taking him slowly until he hits the back of his throat. Hissing loudly, Keith’s head falls back, smacking against the mirror as Shiro hums around him.

He’s never been sure of a heaven, but Keith is certain that this must be pretty close as he feels Shiro’s tongue roll against him. It leads a moan through him that rattles against his teeth.

As he works his mouth against him, Keith is thinks that if the jukebox outside stopped, everyone would hear him.

The thought only makes him moan louder.

Pleasure and heat mounts in his chest as stars begin to pop in his vision as Keith reaches toward Shiro’s hair. To push him off, to pull him closer, he isn’t even sure until his fingers close on air and he’s already pulled away.

“Say it again,” Shiro’s voice is rough as his fingers grip into the soft flesh behind his knees and tugs him forward. Their chests hit with a titanic force that makes those same stars expand as he rolls against him.

“You,” Keith keens, burying his face into his throat in an attempt to get closer as he digs his fingers into the meat of his shoulders. He barely even registers the metallic clang of the machine beside them as Shiro fidgets with it, instead focusing on pressing open mouthed kisses to his pulse in between his words.

“Shiro,” his name drips off his tongue. “I want you.”

He repeats it like a mantra as he clings to him, leaving marks across Shiro’s throat where he knows he won’t be able to cover. Smiling with the thought, he pushes his grin into the curve of his shoulder, just at the seam where metal meets flesh.

Shiro’s triumphant hum buzzes through them both as he finally pulls a small bottle of lube and a condom from the machine. There was a time Keith had looked upon those machines with disdain, wondering to himself who would possibly have use for them.

Now, he thinks he might need to send Sal a muffin basket.

“Again,” Shiro commands, looking down at him as he runs a palm over the full of Keith’s thigh, squeezing hard enough to make him whine.

“You,” Keith gasps as his hips twitch upward in search of friction.

Hair tickles his cheek as Shiro leans in again, biting at his neck before soothing the sting with his tongue as he presses the small square package of a condom into Keith’s palm.

“Give me a hand.”

It’s said with a smile that he tucks into the crook of his neck, urging Keith’s head further back as he rumbles deep in his chest. The sound is almost a purr as he feels the cool press of lube slicked fingers at his entrance. Nosing at his temple, Shiro’s breath is hot against his ear as a moment suspends between them, their chests rising and falling against each other in their shared space.

“Unless,” he nipped at Keith’s earlobe, “you think you’ll be too distracted.”

The lightning strike lands again, this time blowing Keith’s chest wide with an explosion of heat and bone as Shiro pushes his finger in slowly. Skin dragging on skin, he hears his own throaty moan echo off the tile surrounding them as his hand crushes around the condom. He can still feel the smile against his pulse, which only makes him burn hotter as the challenge rolls thunderously through him.

“You’d have to do something to distract me first,” Keith says breathlessly, biting down on a blinding gasp as Shiro starts to work him open in earnest. It’s too slow and too fast all at once as the strokes fill his veins with heated honey. Blindly, and with trembling fingers, Keith tears at the packaging as Shiro drags his teeth down to his collar, only stopping long enough to leave bruising bites along the path he’s following.

“Is that so?” He hums at the base of his throat, pushing another finger in with ease.

“Y-yeah,” Keith stutters as he pulls the plastic from the packaging. His stomach tightens as Shiro’s fingers stroke deeper, pulling sinful sounds from his mouth as he drops the wrapper to the ground.

“Like this?” Shiro’s voice is unnervingly innocent before he crashes their mouths together once more as he thrusts his fingers up into him, scissoring in a way that makes his vision white out. Curling his hand into his shoulders, Keith’s sharp inhale is disrupted by Shiro’s tongue as he continues to stretch him, mercifully adding another finger when he starts to rut down into his hand.

Still, he somehow manages to get the condom rolled over Shiro. Pulling back far enough to stare up at him, Keith smiles triumphantly.

“Gotcha,” he echoes, turning it into a moan as Shiro pulls his human hand away and leaving him achingly empty. Metal brushes his cheek, cooling the heat that’s gathered there as the Alpha’s eyes turn into something closer to satin than silver.

Keith burns with a completely different kind of fire as the moment turns tender beneath Shiro’s touch.

“Is this okay?” He asks, gaze glittering with what Keith realizes is worry. As if it might be anything but.

How could he not know that Keith’s burned for him for years now, hiding it all behind a wall of forced rivalry, snarking comments and sharp smiles. It’s always been Shiro.

How could he not know.

Trapping the metallic palm against his cheek with his own hand, Keith looks up through his lashes, leaning in slowly.

“Yes,” he answers softly, sweetly even, before brushing their lips together in a barely there kiss that he feels in his toes. Shifting his hand slightly, Shiro curls his fingers into the hair at his nape as he deepens this kiss.

With a flick of his tongue, he swallows a soft mewl from Keith’s mouth as he wraps his other hand behind his knee and pulls him forward as he pushes in.

The stretch is delicious, and he feels it in the back of his throat as he bottoms out. There’s a moment of pause as they adjust, neither speaking as they talk through the fiery lines they drag along each others skin.

Then it all goes incendiary as Shiro begins to rock into him, his pace slow and sure to start as his hands explore the planes of Keith’s body. Rucking his shirt up, Shiro holds it wrinkled against his sternum with a palm as his other hand buries fingers deep into the meat of his thigh.

“Shiro,” Keith gasps as he feels the pressure building low in his gut like a new sun. The gravity of it pulls him in on himself as he runs his nails against Shiro’s back, looking for any hold to keep himself tethered to this spot.

A steady cadence of  _yes_  wraps around them as Shiro’s pace starts to quicken, growing erratic as his moans punctuate the mantra spilling from Keith’s lips.

“Shiro, please,” he babbles, panting into his pulse. “I need, I need—”

Keith isn’t sure he even knows what he needs as he anchors himself to Shiro, hips meeting each thrust as he mouths at his throat.

 _You_ , his mind supplies again as the new sun expands, blinding him with its sudden emergence as his orgasm hits him with the same force of a crashing supernova. Streaks paint his chest as he gasps loudly into Shiro’s neck, wrapping his name around the sound. Body going pliant, it’s just a matter of moments before Shiro follows, throwing his head back with a moan that shoves itself between Keith’s ribs.

Falling against him comfortably, Shiro traps Keith against the mirror as they just breath against each other.

For a moment, he thinks he can feel their hearts beating the same stuttering rhythm.

“Fuck,” Shiro bites out, his shoulders shaking with a small laugh as he rolls his neck against the soft strokes that Keith is placing against it. It feels alarmingly easy, and sweet given the circumstances.

So much so, that he almost forgets that they’re in a bar bathroom at their own fraternity event.

Almost.

A shock rocks through him at the thought as Keith pulls away, feeling Shiro slip out of him with a sound of protest.

“We should go,” he starts, only to be silenced by a bruising kiss that pushes him flush against the mirror. Humming into it, his arms wrap lazily around Shiro’s neck as if they have a mind of their own.

“I just got you,” Shiro growls against Keith’s mouth. “I’m not done with you yet.”

The sound of it is guttural, animalistic, making his core burn and his dick twitch with more interest. His fingers grasp at Keith’s thigh just this side of painful as he nips at Shiro’s lip in retaliation.

“And what if I say I’m done with you?” He asks, though he doesn’t mean it. It’s a realization that hits harder than anything else. Keith can feel the bruises of Shiro’s fingertips blossoming on his thighs and he knows he isn’t done with him either.

Not by a long shot.

It earns him a proper kiss all the same, filled with fire and teeth as Shiro pushes a rueful tongue into his mouth and fists his hands in Keith’s hair.

Moments pass as they push against each other hungrily, trying to take what they can as if it’s the only night they have.

For all Keith knows, maybe it is.

Shiro catches another one of his moans before pulling away, smirking down at him as he follows after the lost contact. There’s a loud thud against the bathroom door and a shout as he swipes a thumb across Keith’s spit slicked lip.

“You aren’t,” is all he says before pulling away completely and tucking himself back into his jeans. Turning away, he settles his fingers on the lock of the door, nodding to Keith in all his wrecked glory where’s he’s perched on the sink.

Once upon a time, he might have had it in himself to care.

“Wait ten minutes, then meet me at mine.”

The music is loud as it fills the bathroom, settling around him as Shiro pushes himself out into the bar.

“C’mon, bud, you don’t want to go in there, someone had too fun of a night,” Keith hears him say to whoever was waiting outside, his voice cutting off with the slam of the door and leaving him in a comfortable silence. It weighs on him gently as he falls back against the mirror, his shoulders shaky around a small, disbelieving chuckle as he runs a hand over his thigh as if he can chase the warmth that still lingers there.

Looking up into the off white light hanging over the sink, he breathes out his shock with a single word for the second time that day.

“ _Fuck._ ”

*******************


	4. Senior Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ngl, I more or less free wrote this, and then accidentally wrote a perfect ending for it before I could get in some other stuff I wanted. Good news is, it helped me decide to go ahead and do that Shiro POV part that I’d been on the fence about so that I could get it in so, SURPRISE! This is an epilogue for the main story, but we still got one more chapter!

There were a great many things that Keith Kogane had figured out by his fourth, and final year of college.

The first, was that the Betas had definitely taken Kolivan and all his presidential wisdom for granted. During his time on the council, he’d caught glimpses of the work that went into heading a fraternity, but he hadn’t truly felt the brunt of it until Kolivan had pressed the presidential pin into his collar and lost 10 years off his face in the process.

Keith quickly gained those years as he endured the single most challenging two semesters of his life ensuring that he— and his brothers— all made it through the year relatively unscathed. He did his best, and he held his head high knowing that the house was still standing and that not a single one of their members had ended up in the hospital at any given point in the year.

So, he thinks maybe he did Kolivan proud.

The second, that the presidential suite that came along with the title and pin could do wonders for soothing any and all complaints he had about his presidential hardships. Spanning the same space of two normal rooms, it came equipped with a large flat screen, bay windows, and a fully stocked private bar.

All in which explained why Kolivan had had such a strict No Access rule on his room.

He gets it, except where Shiro is concerned.

A fact that brought him to the third, and arguably most important thing that he’d learned. And that, was just how good Shiro looked in that presidential suite.

Or rather, how good he looked pressed up against said private bar.

That knowledge is what has Keith’s mind far, far away— up a flight of stairs and down a long hall to be precise— and not on the current sprawling battlefield before him.

Dragging his teeth across the full of his bottom lip, he let’s his gaze trace over the line of red cups that still stretch out in front of him before tracking it up to where Shiro stands on the other side of the table. To the untrained eye, the Alpha president must look put together, a pinnacle of brotherhood with his brightly hued tank and his snapback turned backwards.

He knows, that to the other Alphas behind him, he looks like their fearless leader as he lands another cup before moving forward and leaving Keith a flip behind.

But as he keeps his gaze fixed on Shiro, he can see the wrinkles that radiate from the center of his chest like a starburst where he’d grabbed it earlier and pushed him against that damned bar. And just beside that, he can see the purple blossom blooming just barely hidden by one of his tank top’s straps.

Mouth pooling and stomach filled with fire, Keith clicks his jaw in an attempt to ease the ache still collected in its hinges from before their untimely interruption. After all, the real reason Shiro had been there in the first place was for their end of the year party that would end their rivalry and finally crown one of them the champion.

Four years of competition all simmered down to one final game of flip cup.

Not to be sucked off within an inch of his life pressed up against his once rival’s personal bar.

That hadn’t stopped the irritation that had filled him as Hunk’s loud voice had reminded him of the match, and how he’d needed to win for the good of the Beta name. Or something like that.

Honestly, he’d be a liar if he’d said he didn’t want to win that final match, but in that moment, his knees burning from the friction of his shag carpet and his throat raw, he honestly didn’t give a shit.

“Ready to lose, babe?” Shiro had chuckled when he’d seen Keith’s affronted look, tapping his slicked chin up so his glare was settled on him instead of at the door. Admittedly, it had been a much prettier sight, with the way Shiro’s pupils had been blown to obsidian, and his kiss bruised lips were still parted around his gasping breaths.

Still didn’t soothe the burn of resentment that tickled his sternum as he ran his thumb across his chin, collecting the mix of precum and spit on the digit before licking it off as he’d sat on his haunches.

“Nah,” he’d said flippantly as he’d held the fierce stare above him with one of his own. “I think I’ll go ahead and kick your ass one more time.”

But that had been then, and this was now, and with Shiro now two cups ahead of him with that dagger of a grin of his plastered across his stupidly attractive face, Keith thinks maybe he’d consider losing just so he can get back to wiping that smug look away.

“Giving up?” Shiro’s voice is a whip, lashing out with a barb of teasing as he takes a leisurely sip of his current cup, fixing his stare just over its rim. Challenge polishes it into something bright as it warms Keith, settling a heated flush over his cheeks as he finally picks up his first cup.

Throwing the match for the sake of time was an idea, but he hadn’t ever been very good at losing.

“It’s called a handicap, Takashi,” Keith says, preening silently at the way the name makes Shiro’s gaze darken before continuing with a shrug. “Maybe I just wanted things to be fair.”

Throwing his head back, he swallows down the large mouthful of warming beer before dropping it on the edge of the table. With a deft flick, it flies easily upward, landing upside down as Keith makes a grab for his next cup before it could even finish quaking on the table top.

“With a face like that, you never fight fair,” Shiro grits out, their cups flipping and landing in unison as they both continue to the next.

“I don’t know, baby, I think I’d call us even on that front.”

Aiming his smile over his current cup’s edge, Keith’s mouth only pulls wider, hungrier, as he sees his fingers bite into the flexible red plastic of his cup.

It doesn’t seem like much, a barely there twitch that could be written off as a mere spasm of muscle, but he knows that it means he has Shiro right where he wants him.

Quickly disappearing behind his cup, he lets it fly, the flipping arc ending with the thud of it landing fully as Shiro’s falls dead on its side.

A groan of disappoint and something that sounds a bit like disgust rises from the crowd around them as the Alpha president picks his cup back up to set it back on the table’s edge.

“Life was so much easier when you both pretended you didn’t like each other,” Lance’s voice is a boisterous addition as he peers over Shiro’s shoulder, watching closely as his cup came back down from its ascent, only to land on its side once more. It draws another frustrated sound from the brunette.

“Get back to the destroying!”

“Great coaching there, Lance,” Keith laughs as he watches his cup land another perfect arc. It ties the game and turns his wolfish look smug as he looks up to both of the Alphas opposite of him.

“Don’t you like, love him or whatever? Shouldn’t you make it easier for him?” Lance whines as his worried look flicks back and forth between Keith and the matching lines of cups between them.

“No,” Keith says thoughtfully, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as he shifts his attention to Shiro. “After all, all’s fair in love and war, right Takashi?”

Crimson spills across both their cheeks in a way that is all too satisfying as Keith picks up his last cup.

“Keith,” Shiro breathes, fingers brushing against the smooth surface of his own final cup just as Keith sets his down. Blowing a kiss with all the same force of a missile, and finishing it off with a wink, he taps the plastic rim.

Time stalls as the cup launches upwards in a flawless spiral, pausing at its peak along with the breath of all the Betas behind him before coming back down with the soft sound of plastic against plastic.

Keith doesn’t look down to see how it’s landed, instead opting to hold the simmering sterling gaze that’s boring straight through his chest.

“No!” Lance’s voice is sharp and loud amongst the loud cheers that erupt behind Keith, signaling what he already knows.

The cup landed perfectly upside down.

“Couldn’t just keep it in your pants, huh, lover boy?” Lance moans, his words lost on Shiro as he drinks down his final cup. Ignoring him still, he tosses the empty over his shoulder before pushing his way around the table with his gaze set intently on Keith.

“All’s fair, huh?” He asks lowly, voice filled with the same intensity of a solar flare. There’s barely any space between them, a fact that Keith is all too aware of as he looks up and puffs his chest out in teasing defiance.

“What can I say, I know how to play the game,” he says, laughing against the sudden stutter of his heart as Shiro slowly raises his hand up towards his face. A cool line etches into his skin where his metallic fingertips brush a line over his temple, catching a stray strand of hair before he pushes it behind his ear.

“Unfortunately for me, I can’t deny that,” he hums as he fits his palm flush against Keith’s cheek, working those same fingers at the base of his skull. Heat rolls through him as he presses into Shiro’s touch, keeping his gaze focused on him as the Alpha president dips in to press the curl of his smile against his own.

There’s nothing special about it. It’s another added to an ever growing collection, and yet he still feels it in a way that curls his toes as he pushes up on his toes to steal just a little bit more from it.

Another chorus of groans wrap around them, earning a small chuckle from Shiro that Keith catches easily as he blindly aims a middle finger behind him towards their friends.

“You two are menaces,” Hunk’s voice is a near perfect impression of a vocal eye roll from where he stands in the crowd.

“Thank god they’re graduating,” Lance replies loudly.

Finally pulling away, Keith turns his attention towards them, a barbed reminder that they’re all graduating hanging from his tongue just in time to see the gangly brunette pull Hunk into his side. It’s an overly friendly gesture that has them both laughing as they move toward the large carved ice luge on the other end of the yard.

 _Interesting_ , Keith thinks as he watches Lance point Hunk to the receiving end of the ice as he picks up a half empty bottle of vodka.

“Want to go celebrate your win?” Shiro asks lowly, his words blowing warm breath against the shell of his ear as he noses playfully at Keith’s hair. Any thoughts he has on the matter of their friends floats away on the back of that very same breath as he slides his hand down to Shiro’s.

With a quick nod, he grips it tightly with intent as he starts to tug him back toward the house.

“Let the party commence!” Keith shouts, words parting his wide grin as he aims them toward the two fraternities gathered in the Beta yard. The command wins him cheers as he pushes through the backdoor, his focus newly set on the stairs that would lead him back to his room.

Taking the steps two at a time, he doesn’t miss the sound of Shiro’s low laugh as he follows, squeezing his fingers gently as they go.

It’s a small gesture. Leaps and bounds from all else that they’ve done, but it races like an electric shock up his arm and buries itself into the meat of his heart.

“Slow down, tiger,” Shiro says as Keith pulls them around the corner at the top of the stairs, almost colliding his shoulder with the corner of the wall.

“Why?” Keith asks, unable to keep the teasing lilt out of his voice as he pushes his door open and steps over the threshold, finally relinquishing Shiro’s hand so he can throw himself onto his bed.

Crossing his legs, he turns his gaze on him. It’s nothing but fire and want, and he sees it reflected in the silvery stare looking back at him.

“Can’t keep up with me?”

“You’re cocky today,” Shiro replies, his smile growing as he watches him settle his elbow on his knee, and his cheek in his open palm.

“No,” Keith said easily, openly appraising him. “I just want to finish what we started.”

A low rumble set deep in Shiro’s chest sends a wave of goosebumps racing up his arms as he returns his hungry smile.

Yes, there were a great many thing Keith Kogane has figured out in his four years of college, but there was one final thing he’d learned, and it was undoubtedly the most important thing of all.

And that, he thinks as he watches Shiro close his bedroom door, was that he was still damn good at winning.

*********************


	5. Victory Lap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! Bet y’all thought I was gone, huh? ~~help me its been.... a rough month to say the least lol~~ Anyway, hope this last bit of the Frat AU is worth the hellish wait I put y’all through! 
> 
> Also, please excuse any scientific/mathematical inaccuracies. I have but one brain cell, Google, and a science friend who tried her best.

**1.**

 

It’s his first year of college, and Takashi Shirogane understands many, many things.

He understands the extreme value theorem they’re currently covering in his 8am calculus class, and Rolle’s theorem that it helps to prove.

He understands the basic theories of astrophysics, and how they’ll apply to, hopefully, his future in astronautics.

He even understands fluid mechanics theory, even if just barely.

But what he doesn’t understand, is the boy with the night pitch hair, and eyes colored like dark amethyst. More specifically, he doesn’t quite understand his burning look that only seems to linger on him, even an hour removed from their game.

Which, he’d lost.

That’s another thing he doesn’t quite understand.

Though, maybe that’s just the alcohol talking.

“He hates me,” the alcohol also talks, as Shiro stares into the abyss that is the Beta house’s backyard.

“Who hates you?” Lance asks from beside him, voice bored as he lets his gaze roam over the party. Something at the edge of the alcohol blur in his mind tells him Lance doesn’t quite care, but he humors him anyway.

 _He’s a good friend_ , Shiro thinks, dropping his back against the slightly greened fence behind him and groans.

“ _Him_ ,” he says, emphasizing the word as if it clears anything up at all. It doesn’t seem to, if the thick sound of Lance’s silence is anything to go by.

Growling lowly, his grip tightens around his half emptied cup of mystery punch.

Which, with the way the backyard is fuzzed at its edges and the way his skin is running hot, he probably shouldn’t be drinking.

That, he could dispute with himself in the morning though.

“Him,” Shiro repeats, nodding his head toward the deck. There are several people there, all faded and fuzzed together in a conglomeration of Betas that he doesn’t know, save for one.

One with that dark, wavy hair, and that cutting gaze that Shiro can’t seem to shake.

Keith.

His name is Keith.

Keith Kogane.

From his 8am calculus class, and very possibly, his dreams.

“Dude, too much,” Lance groans in response, slight disgust filling his tone as Shiro realizes he didn’t just think those words. Scrubbing a hand at his nape, he smiles in sheepish apology just as Lance turns his attention toward the deck.

“Are you sure he hates just you?” He continues, arching a brow as he tilts his chin toward the scene before them.

“What does that mean?” Shiro asks, confusion lemon bright on his tongue as he turns back to the deck in time to watch Keith nod at something the bleary stranger beside him said. Whatever it is, it irons out his scowl into something more of a drawn line that makes Shiro’s chest hollow with something just shy of jealousy.

Which is just ridiculous since he’s only ever spoken to Keith the one time, and it was while he decimated him at flip cup.

 _It must just be the alcohol talking_ , Shiro thinks to himself as he turns back to Lance.

“You know,” he says, gesturing to his face, “the bitch face. It doesn’t look like he really likes anyone.”

“It’s not a bitch face,” Shiro says, ignoring the defensiveness of his tone as he turns his attention back to his classmate. Dipping behind the rim of his red plastic cup, he sucks mystery punch between his teeth as his gaze catches Keith’s hardened exterior crack and buckle beneath the weight of a smile aimed directly at his companion.

He almost chokes as the curve of it sinks deep into the meat of his chest.

“Or not,” Lance mutters, flicking his look back and forth between Shiro and the deck with what looks almost like pity.

It’s then, that Keith chooses to turn away from his friend, sweeping his eyes across the yard and meeting his with a bright spark. Breath seizing, Shiro watches in what feels like slow motion as his smile drops, followed quickly by his gaze before he turns away completely.

Beside him, there’s a sharp inhale and a low ‘ _oh_ ’ as Lance reaches up and drops a warm palm on his shoulder.

“Sorry buddy,” he says, squeezing his fingers slightly in what Shiro can only assume is meant to be reassurance, but feels much more like pity as he feels his stomach drop low.

“There’s a slim chance he maybe hates.”

They both watched as Keith dipped close to his friend, saying something before pushing into the crowd of bodies on the deck without waiting for his answer. His retreat burns almost as much as the last bit of punch that Shiro sucks down after he can no longer see his dark waves moving in the thrush.

His head spins a big with the alcohol as it roils in his stomach, combining with a noxious mix of yearning.

“But don’t worry,” Lance says brightly, words slightly smushed at their edges as he slides his hand from his shoulder just to smack Shiro on the back. It makes his teeth click against the cheap plastic of his cup and spills punch down his chin as he pulls the cup away. Wiping up the liquid with the back of his hand, he turns to face the other pledge.

Lance’s smile is dangerous as he continues to speak.

“You’ve got Lover Boy Lance here! I’ll help you get the guy!”

It’s an offer, wrapped inside a very terrible idea, which is another thing that Shiro understands. Lover Boy Lance was nothing more than a moniker that Lance had given himself, and nothing good ever came from self proclamations such as that.

But there’s something about the confidence that he exudes that makes him consider.

Looking Lance over, Shiro hears himself say “I’m listening,” before he can think it over further, which only makes Lance’s grin grow wider.

It’s truly, a terrible idea to trust him.

Yet, in that moment, it doesn’t sound all that terrible at all.

Of course, maybe that’s just the alcohol talking.

 

**2.**

 

It’s his second year of college, and Takashi Shirogane has begun to understand many, many more things.

He understands the second law of thermodynamics, and how the change of entropy is equal to heat transfer divided by temperature.

He also understands that the entropy and environment of a system remain constant as long as the process can be reversed.

He even understands how the entropy and environment must, and will, increase if it’s irreversible.

What Shiro understands, is thermodynamics.

But what he doesn’t understand, is how he ever thought listening to any of Lance’s advice was a good idea, because now, he was certain he was closer to accidentally leading Keith to an early alcohol induced grave than actually getting to know him.

Of course, he hadn’t quite expected Keith to actually take him up on the offer to join him for a drink, or to actually go along with the game.

Of course, now that he thought about it, he should have known Keith wouldn’t be able to say no to kicking his ass at a game.

“Come on, Keith, we’re almost there,” Shiro says low, more to himself than to Keith as he tightens his hold around his waist.

It’s only half of a truth.

They aren’t quite almost there, but they have made it halfway down Greek row, which was much more progress than they’d had about twenty minutes ago when he’d found himself holding Keith’s hair back as he dry heaved in front of the Alpha Chi house.

 _Take that, Alphas,_  Keith had huffed, voice scratchy and raw from his efforts as he’d stared at the fraternity house with an odd mix of fascination and fire in his gaze. It’d turned his glare brilliant, and scorched, before he’d turned that very same look to him.

Something about it had made it intoxicating in a way that had gone straight to Shiro’s head, more so than the shots had.

 _Why do you hate us so much?_  He had asked, unable to look away from the incendiary stare.

 _Why do you hate me so much_ , he had meant.

 _I don’t hate_ you, Keith had replied, throwing emphasis on ‘you’ as he’d stabbed a finger to the center of Shiro’s chest before turning his attentions back to the house. The yellow of the street light standing guard over them had almost made his cheeks look flushed as he’d contemplated the simple brick of its walls.

His mouth had turned down in a half-hearted scowl before he said with entirely different inflection,  _I hate you._

It didn’t make sense in the slightest, yet Shiro had laughed then, loud and unrestrained, as Keith had looked back to him for just long enough for the scowl to flick upwards in a barely there facsimile of a smile.

And then, he had ducked forward to throw up on Shiro’s shoes.

He tried not to think too hard about the cooling warmth that’s seeped into his socks now, as Keith continues to ramble, sending his blurred words up toward the night sky.

“You know about stars?” He asked as he let his head lull to the side lazily to find Shiro’s shoulder. Never faltering in his steps, Keith continues his obedient shuffle while keeping his eyes turned upward.

“I’d like to think so,” Shiro chuckles, training his focus on keeping them both moving in some semblance of a straight line, and not the sharp profile of Keith’s face.

“They make up everything,” Keith continues, not paying him any mind. “I’m a star. You’re a star.”

Pausing, he pulls away to look at Shiro, filling the space between them with expectation.

His gaze cuts as he waits, silent in his inquiry as Shiro furrows his brow.

Biting deep into the meat of his lip, he pulls them both over the curb in front of the Beta house.

“We’re all stars?” Shiro guesses.

Satisfied with his answer, Keith nods before dropping his head back to his shoulder as Shiro continues to pull both their weights up the front steps of the porch.

“Keith, do you have your keys?” He asks, giving him another squeeze to make sure he hasn’t fallen asleep standing against him. It earns his nothing more than a disbelieving scoff as Keith shoves a hand into the depths of his front pocket.

Shiro can practically hear his eyes rolling, accompanied with the metallic click of keys.

“Of course I do,” he says, pulling them free and holding them straight out, never once pulling away from where he leans against him.

“If you leave your keys, you get party pickup duty. Never leave your keys,” Keith continues to mumble as Shiro grabs for them, swallowing down the buzz that rocks though him as their fingertips brush.

It stings through him in an entirely different way than the burning line that Keith presses against his side, and Shiro feels his mouth go dry before he squeezes his fist around the metal. The sharp stab of the keys forces him back down to Earth, and the Beta porch as he shifts through the sparse offering to find the key marked with a β.

The lock clicks quietly as he makes quick work of it. Inside, it’s silent, and dark, the house nothing more than an abandoned husk as it awaited its occupants to return.

“Which way to your room?” Shiro whispers, gently closing the door behind them.

Something about the peace of the house begs for his own quiet. It’s almost as if there’s a spell cast over the brick and mortar, and he finds himself scared of breaking it.

Humming lowly, Keith waves a hand vaguely toward the stairs in answer.

“Up and left,” is all he supplies before turning his face into Shiro’s collar.

His breath is hot, collecting in the fabric of his shirt in a way that sears down to his core as he continues their awkward shuffle up the stairs, dutifully following his simple instructions.

Passing a couple of doors, it isn’t until they’re in front of the second to last that Keith makes a small sound and pulls toward it, effectively stopping them both as he pushes it open clumsily.

Behind the plain door, stands Keith’s room.

It’s spartan in its furnishings, with a bed adorned by a thick black comforter, and a desk that sits in front of a single window. Closing the door behind them, Shiro catches sight of the dresser that sits behind it.

Atop it, sits Keith’s Beta Theta pledge paddle, a couple of crumpled dollars, and a sheathed knife.

They’re the only personal touches in the room, and Shiro finds himself reaching out to them, as if they might reveal something of Keith.

A sharp sound sticks itself in Shiro’s throat as Keith pulls away quickly. The motion of it drags him along, making him trip over his feet as he makes his way towards his bed.

Humming happily, Keith lands with a soft squeak of mattress springs as he starts to kick his shoes off, eyes lidded as he reached back at his comforter to push it down. Sitting there, he looks impossibly soft, swathed in the moonlight that’s pressing through his blinds.

Electricity turns Shiro’s veins to live wires as he steps back.

“Do you have any Tylenol?” He asks, turning away in hopes of quelling the heartbeat drumming in his ears. Waving his hand once more in the direction of the desk, Keith makes a noncommittal sound as  he starts to pull at his jacket.

Quickly closing the distance between himself and the desk, Shiro traces his gaze over the papers that are scattered over its surface. His writing is a scratch across the white sheets, and on the topmost page, there’s a doodle of an odd creature that decorates the margins.

It’s looks like it would be a caterpillar, if caterpillars had beaks and didn’t look much like caterpillars at all.

Biting down on his laugh, Shiro shakes his head as he opens the top drawer of the desk, eyeing a small white bottle in its corner. With a quick shake, he frees two pills before dropping it back into the drawer with rattling sound before grabbing for a cup that sits on the window sill behind the desk.

It looks relatively clean, and given the circumstance, he figures Keith won’t particularly mind even if it was.

There’s a soft grunt behind him, pulling his attention back toward him long enough to catch him still struggling with his jacket. Moonlight stripes the leather, and falls in his hair, tangling in the waves and turning them to midnight water.

He’s a vision, painted in darkness and sharp lines of light, and it takes everything in Shiro to turn away to make his way to the door tucked in the corner of the room. Throwing it open, he finds himself at the threshold of a small half bathroom.

Turning on the light, he finds himself before a porcelain sink and the oval mirror that hangs above it.

Shiro’s reflection stares back at him, eyes shining bright and pink spilling across his cheeks in an embarrassing way. With a small sound of indignation, he pulls his stare away before he can think too hard about the reason behind the flush that is decidedly not the alcohol before filling the cup.

Then, quickly turning on his heel, he returned to Keith.

Still sitting where he’s left him, only with the addition of his shoes and jacket on the ground, he watches Shiro closely. Keith’s eyes are cutting and clear, like a predator, and he wonders silently if he’s somehow sobered in the matter of seconds that he was gone.

Frozen beneath his stare, Shiro tightens his grip on the cup as Keith slowly tilts his head as he carefully scrutinizes him. It turns the night air thick, and hot, and it catches in his throat.

He thinks he even might choke on it before Keith’s eyes start to shudder shut, effectively pulling the breath from his lungs with a relieved sigh.

Stepping closer, he drops the pills and cup onto his nightstand.

“Why?” Keith asks breathily, not bothering to open his eyes.

Shiro wonders if he’s even talking to him, or just some phantom he sees in his dreams.

“I told you,” Shiro answers anyway, gently pressing a palm over his heart as he grabs for the comforter with the other, holding it back for him as Keith lets himself be pushed down into his pillows.

“You’re my type.”

A sleepy sound of acknowledgement brushes through Keith’s chest before he rolls to his side as Shiro pulls the blanket over him. Pressing himself closer into the pillows, he clutches at the comforter and smiles the smallest brush of a smile.

“Thanks,” he mutters around a yawn.

It takes all of three breaths before they’ve evened into the cadence of sleep that rises and falls softly beneath the sea of his blanket. Shaking his head slowly, Shiro grabs a sheet of paper and a pen from his desk before returning to the nightstand to jot out a quick note.

_Take this, and learn how to hold your liquor :)_

The blue ink stands stark on the white of the page, the marks each weighted with the same emotion that sits heavy on his tongue with the rest of what he wishes to add.

Instead, he drops the pen beside the note.

Turning away from Keith’s sleeping form, he almost makes it to the door when he sees a small plastic trash can beside it.

There’s another small sound, almost like a sigh, as Shiro grabs for it before turning back to see Keith’s face twitch with a near smile. Dropping it on the ground before him, the plastic is much louder against the hardwood, and it makes him shift slightly in his sleep.

“Shiro,” Keith says lowly, pulling the comforter up further over his chin. The sound of his name on his tongue, shortened with familiarity, crackles in his nerves as he reaches a shaking hand forward to brush a lock of hair from Keith’s cheek.

The lingering buzz of alcohol in his veins is what pushes him forward as he brushes his lips over the crest of it.

“Goodnight, Keith,” he whispers, his breath ghosting across Keith’s cheek before he fully stands.

The quiet sound of a returned goodnight follows him as he turns to leave, heating his skin until he’s certain he’ll burn.

In their class, they were given an example of irreversible thermodynamics. When a hot object meets a cold object, they may both reach a maintained equilibrium temperature, but once pulled apart, they would never naturally return to their original temperatures.

Their combining leaves them changed.

As he shut the door behind him, careful to ensure it only makes the barest sound of a click as it fully closes, he can’t help but think of that example.

Swiping a hand over his tired eyes, he pushes himself down the hall and toward the staircase that would lead him directly to the front door of the Beta house. It isn’t until he’s outside that he tries to swallow a bitter laugh as he drops his head back to look up at the sky.

As it turned out, he may understand the irreversibility of the second law of thermodynamics a little too well.

 

**3.**

 

It’s his third year of college, and Takashi Shirogane understands much, and yet nothing at all.

This much he learns half naked and stretched across a sticky bar table, with the hot line Keith has licked across his stomach cooling on his skin, and the sight of his retreating back before him.

He’d thought he’d finally understood the way Keith felt.

Thought he’d understood where they both stood on a precipice of shared flirtation and nothing more. Shiro was ready to die on that hill. If that was all Keith wanted to give him, he was more than happy to accept it.

There were worse ways to go.

But it was then, trapped between the heat of Keith’s chest and the strength of his grasp at his nape, that he realized maybe he hadn’t understood anything at all.

“Dude,” Lance says, drawing the word out until it’s painfully long before turning to Shiro. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t—” Shiro starts, staring out into the crowd that slowly folds back around the space that Keith had disappeared through.

 _I didn’t do anything_ , he means to say, but it sticks in his throat as he flips quickly through the mental photo album of the day. Nothing sticks out as extraordinary. From the start of the day, to just moments before, the only difference, was Keith.

Keith coming forward.

Keith, with that look in his eyes and that confident smirk.

Keith, and the sinful way his tongue had played across his skin.

_Keith, Keith, Keith._

The answer comes to him, whole hearted and with all the force of a tank, and it crushes him beneath the weight of understanding.

“I didn’t do anything.” Shiro breathes out the realization, panic bright in his eyes as he looks to Lance. Gaze going wide, Lance shifts his attention between his friend and the crowd around them, almost in search.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Back and—

Exhaling loudly, Lance keeps his look on Shiro as he speaks.

“I’m not going to lie, buddy. I don’t get it,” he says, anticlimactic and with a measured shrug. Alcohol spills over Lance’s fingers as he raises the hand holding his shot, cutting off Shiro before he can push words through the open gape of his mouth.

The liquid drips from Lance’s hand and onto his leg, seeping into the denim in wet drops.

“It being you,” Lance continues, bringing the shot glass to his lips and dipping his head back with it before resurfacing with a shit eating grin. “Looks like he doesn’t hate you half as much as you thought he did.”

“You also thought he hated me,” Shiro points out, gaze sticking to the crowd like wallpaper in an attempt to avoid his friend’s stare.

 _It’s my all seeing stare_ , Lance had once said before demonstrating. At the time, Shiro had laughed so hard, he’d snorted beer from his nose because it looked a lot less all seeing, and much more like he’d just smelled the gnarliest shit.

Now though, Shiro isn’t too sure Lance couldn’t see down to his very core.

Swallowing thickly, he tries to settle the quick pace of his heart as it beats a harrowed rhythm into his ribs and sends fissures through the bone as he aches. 

“We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you,” Lance snarks, shoving an accusatory finger into the fault line at the center of his chest.

“He did,” Shiro breathes, closing his fist at his side as if he’s clutching on a lifeline, “he does.”

Clicking his tongue, Lance shakes his head with disapproval as he quickly pours another shot. Its smell is noxious, and it burns Shiro’s nose as Lance waves the glass beneath it in offering.

“You sure about that?” He questions, cocking a challenging eyebrow in Shiro’s direction.

 _Yes_ , he wants to answer. It’s what he would answer if Lance had asked it of him the year prior.

Or even the week prior.

Hell, it’s what he would have answered that morning when Keith had shot him that sharpened look from across the field.

Shiro had been so fucking sure that Keith never thought anything of him as more than just a friend. Friend in the loosest sense of the word, but a friend nonetheless.

But now—

The shot glass is cool to the touch as Shiro grabs it. It contrasts sharply with the acidic burn it sends crashing down his throat as he swallows the tequila.

Heated courage twists in his veins when he resurfaces from the crystalline edge, and it goes straight to his head as he drops the now emptied shot on the table behind him.

The Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle suddenly comes to Shiro’s mind as he pushes himself off the table, leaving the sound of confusion behind him as he works his way through the crowd and in the direction that Keith disappeared.

According to Heisenberg, it was impossible to know both the speed and position of a particle. Only one could be known at any given time, as to know one, the other must be stopped.

All this time, Shiro had thought he’d known the speed at which he’d been chasing after Keith. Not quite ever catching up, but keeping him in sight.

Shiro had never considered stopping to see where Keith stood, in fear that he’d lose him.

Knowing both would be greedy, and an impossibility, and yet standing outside the bar’s bathroom, it doesn’t quite feel like an impossibility at all.

Taking a breath, Shiro rests his palm on the wooden door, admiring the chipped black paint as his mind runs over the uncertainty principle as if it’s a life line.

He can’t possibly know both.

But he wants to.

Exhaling, Shiro pushes open the door.

 

**4.**

 

It’s his fourth and final year of college, and Takashi Shirogane thinks he understands all that he really needs to.

He understands nuclear fusion, and how the stars themselves explode in order to manifest everything in existence.

He understands that all the elements around him, and of him, were all born from the death of far gone stars, and he even understands how poetic that sounds, even if it’s just science.

But what Shiro still doesn’t quite understand, is what makes up Keith. Even starlight didn’t seem grand enough to compose the atoms and matter that trekked through him. Keith was something more like the universe, made up of entire solar systems instead of just mere stars.

At least, that’s what Shiro thinks now as Keith’s smile breaks wide and blissful across his face as he lowers himself onto him, a moan parting his teeth before he drops his head back.

“Keith,” Shiro breaths, pushing his palms over his naked thighs before sinking his fingers into the meat of his hips. The touch stalls him with a shudder that brushes through him, his sharp intake a shattering sound in the otherwise quiet room before Keith lifts his head once more to look down at Shiro.

“Yes?” He asks, eyes half lidded and hands hot where he drops his palms to cover the backs of his own.

Like this, Shiro isn’t even sure that the universe could make up the breadth of wonder that Keith carries in his veins.

Nails prick his skin as Keith sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, waiting for some sign or answer.

The sensation of it races to his heart.

“I love you,” Shiro manages, rubbing twin circles at his hipbones before rolling his hips up to steal a gasp from deep within Keith’s chest. His nails cut deeper into Shiro’s skin before he traces his palms down his forearms.

Following the line of his arms toward his shoulders, Keith hovers over him, a thousand lifetimes bright in his eyes as he grinds himself down onto Shiro as if to prove a point.

“I love you,” he echoes.

It makes Shiro whine as Keith continues to move slowly, rolling sinuously against him, his heated skin burning against his own like a solar flare.

Shiro feels his fingers dig further into the meat of Keith’s hips, surely bruising, as he takes his wickedness in. Above him, lit by the soft glow of the street lights through the half open blinds, Keith is nothing but lean muscle and burning ozone; and the smoke of it leaves him on the back of his voice with the small sounds he makes with each steady movement.

 _He’s so beautiful_ , Shiro thinks as he arches up into him, chasing the friction of Keith’s rolling hips. The movement presses his head further back into Keith’s pillows, surrounding him with his scent and baring his throat up to the other fraternity president.

A burst of happiness, bright and charring, hooks the edges of his lips upward as he feels the soft slide of Keith’s palm across his collarbone before coming to a rest at the base of his throat.

“I love you,” Keith says again, words hitching as Shiro rolls his hips up into him. Time seems to seize around them then, ground to a halt with the quick suction of air from the room as he finds himself pinned beneath Keith’s half lidded stare. 

Something sparks there, deep in his night sky irises as he drags his teeth along the full of his bottom lip, and then gently presses his fingers against either side of his throat.

Everything crashes around them with the near instantaneous rush of Keith’s fingers around his throat, and Keith’s body working down against him, and Keith, Keith—

“Keith,” Shiro rasps, pushing up into his palm as his own run a path back and forth across Keith’s thighs. They travel further and further upward with each pass, but never quite get as high as either of them would like.

“Please.”

He isn’t sure which one of them says it. Honestly, he isn’t sure it matters as his head starts to feel light, and bright stars start to pop in his vision.

With their hips moving together in frantic, staccato motions, Shiro loses himself to the way their bodies move and how the stars tangle in Keith’s hair.

Pushing a palm up from Keith’s hip, Shiro brushes along the line of his flank. It draws a shuddering moan out of him as he continues to move, the fingers around his throat twitching slightly as Shiro’s palm passes over his steadily beating heart.

Continuing his path, he slides his hand up further still until his palm is cupping the side of Keith’s neck, and his fingers curl gently in his hair.

“You’re beautiful,” Shiro breathes before pulling Keith down into a burning kiss that traps the sounds of their shared moans between them.

Each and every one of Keith’s, he notes, tastes like whiskey and starlight.

“Shiro,” Keith gasps into his mouth, hand slipping down to grip at the pillow beneath Shiro’s head in a vain attempt to ground himself as he continues to roll down against him.

It’s too late though.

For both of them.

Shiro wonders if maybe, it always had been, but that was a contemplation to have later as pleasure burns through them both with one final roll of their hips. The proof of it paints between them, coating their skin with ribbons of heat as they ride out the shared orgasm.

The smallest of eternities circles around the room, dipping it in silence only punctuated by their breaths as Shiro holds Keith against him.

It feels right, the way they breathe against each other in the quiet darkness. Almost as if they were both made up of pieces of the same star finally finding the peace of being reunited.

But maybe, that’s just the afterglow talking.

“So what’s next?” Keith asks, low and slow against Shiro’s pulse before pushing himself up. Moving just slightly, he pulls off of him with a small sigh of loss.

Chuckling to himself, Shiro nods down toward where Keith is still perched on his marked stomach.

“I think next we clean up,” he offers with a sharp grin.

His jackass grin, as Keith had deemed it.

“Shut up,” Keith growls playfully as he punches lightly as Shiro’s chest before leaving his closed fist pressed against his heartbeat.

“You know what I mean,” he continues, voice smaller in a way. Almost shy. “Next. After graduation. After—”

He gestures toward the closed door of his room with his other hand—

“—this.”

 _The future_ , Keith means.

Shiro wishes he knew. Wishes that, amongst all the things the past four year had helped him to understand, what they were to do next had been one of the them.

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully, gently grabbing Keith’s hand and pulling it up toward his mouth. Keith’s sigh is soft as he brushes his lips over his knuckles.

“Care to find out with me?”

The streetlight turns Keith’s smile golden as he pulls his hand away and leans down close once more.

“Yeah,” he says, tucking the crescent against the skin of Shiro’s cheek. His answer is a hot puff of breath that rocks down his spine like a lightning strike.

Curling his arms around Keith’s waist, Shiro holds him close as he feels the smile grow.

“Yeah,” he says again, chasing the word with a chaste kiss.

“I think I’d like that.”

*************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~pour one out for the frat au. you will be missed.~~


End file.
